Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

He stood completely still, leaning against the wall by the door as he watched her pace nervously in the private waiting room. Her movements were the physical manifestation of how he felt inside, but he remained impassive and consumed with tranquil fury. There was nothing to be done about their present circumstances, every avenue had been exercised, and their fate had been laid out for them. All that was left to do was find a way through it.

Severus broke the silence with a low, apologetic whisper. “I know this cannot be easy.” 

“They didn’t make it easy for either of us,” she sniped as she made another pass of the room, her high heels clacking out an agitato tempo. She was going to cut a groove into the floor before they left, he was sure. Which, if his internal clock was accurate and they were proceeding on time, was only a few minutes away.

He continued, hoping to have enough time to get his thoughts out before facing the circus on the other side of that door. “I know I am no one’s first choice, or anyone’s choice for that matter, as a husband.” 

Granger’s brown eyes flicked defensively to him, her mouth opening in protest before snapping it shut as she continued to pace and glance at him.

“I know you must have imagined a million ways that I will treat you horridly, and I am sure your friends have tried to convince you that I will harm you.” Severus stood straighter, uncrossing his arms and carefully moderating his tone to avoid lashing out at her, all in an attempt to convince her that he was not her enemy. “But I want you to believe me when I say I have no intention of making this a miserable life sentence for either of us. I will treat you with all the respect you are due and only ask that you do the same in return.”

She opened her mouth to speak again, but this time was interrupted by a knock on the door. The icy rage in him expanded, spiking in resistance to the mandate on their life that that knock represented. It was the signal that they had five minutes before they were expected to walk down the aisle. 

Granger froze in place, eyes wide as she stared at the door with trepidation, her hands curled into her white dress. He watched as the color visibly drained from her face, her anger visibly wilting at the sound. 

“It’s not you I am worried about,” she whispered barely above a breath.

He cocked his head to the side, stepping toward her and the wretched door. “What are you worried about then?”

“I’m worried." The words left her in a shaky breath that sounded like it caught in her throat, half tremor, half sob. She swallowed, fists tightening into the silken fabric. “I am afraid.”

“Of what precisely?” Severus glanced at the door, instinctively wondering if there was a threat beyond it as he secured his fingers around his wand. When he glanced back at her, the color had begun to return to her face as she tried to compose herself.

“I’m afraid of walking out there and being—” she paused, her eyes closing tightly as if she were holding back tears.

“Ridiculed?” he offered quietly. Severus understood she could have been afraid of such a thing. She was trapped, just like he was, in a situation where there was no doubt that she’d be made mockery of. How could she not be, having to be not only forcefully wed to him, but also to have the overarching demand that she have his child or children? The wizarding world was turning their heroine into the butt of its cruelest joke yet.

She shook her head, opening her eyes again. “No, I’m afraid of being pitied.” 

He leaned away from her in confusion, having not expected her response. “Pitied?”

A deprecating smile crossed her lips as she crossed the room and pressed her hand to the door. “While we are victims of this dreadful law, I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to be looked at and have people think, 'Oh, poor Hermione, she had to marry Severus Snape, her life is over.’” Hermione glanced at him with the first flicker of true fear he’d seen on her face during this entire arduous ordeal, a quiet plea weaving through her words. “Because it isn’t, is it?”

“It is not,” he agreed immediately. “While you may be my wife in a few moments, I have no designs on controlling your life, and you may aspire to whatever heights you can achieve. I will endeavor to make sure that nothing impedes your ability to live your life just the way you wish within the parameters of this idiotic law.” 

She inhaled in what he interpreted to be relief, her hand falling away from the door to her side. “I feel the same way about you. I don’t want to control you or make you change your whole life for me. And I don’t want to stop fighting this law, even after we are married.”

“Then I think this marriage has potential,” he declared confidently, stepping to stand by her side at the door. Her hands had worried themselves into her dress, and her eyes were once again fixated on the only barrier between them and the life they never asked for. 

He was an expert at reading people; it had saved his own and others' lives countless times, and he could tell that she was a hair’s breadth away from bolting the moment the door opened. If she ran, it would mean she’d risk losing her magic and potentially going to prison, a fate he would not wish on her.

Inhaling, he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, turning to face her fully. 

“Let them pity you, Grang—” he stuttered to a stop, knowing in a few moments he could never call her that again.

She grimaced as well, as if she had the same thought. 

“I suppose it shall just have to be Hermione for now. Let them think whatever they wish, Hermione, because at the end of the day, neither you nor I have any control over what they think, we only have control over ourselves. They may believe they have beaten us, that we have submitted to their will and this injudicious law. Would you rather worry about what those halfwits out there think, or worry about proving them wrong?”

The veil of fear disappeared in the wake of a confident smile as she pushed some of her curls away from her face. “Proving them wrong, of course. I don’t know how yet, but I’m not going to stop until it is overturned.”

“That is what I thought,” he drawled, leaning in as if he were letting her in on a secret. “Let them pity us, because then they will underestimate us.” 

A second knock on the door, this one more insistent, telling them it was time to face the music written for them. He stood up straighter, fixing the decidedly nicer coat he’d worn for the occasion. “Are you ready?”

“I think so.” She took in a deep breath, shoulders lifting before she forced all the air out loudly, lifting her chin up. “I am ready.”

“This is the hardest part, Hermione, keeping up the act of indifference,” Severus told her, letting the faintest echo of his own rage filter through his tone. “Let them think whatever they wish; it matters not to us.” He reached for the door with one hand, and with the other, he reached for her hand. It was an offering of an alliance, one where he hoped she understood that they were on the same side.

With barely a glance at his hand, she reached back, holding on to it firmly. Brown eyes met black, two nods that could have only meant understanding. 

“Thank you, Severus,” she whispered, just before the door opened. 

He did not get a chance to respond, as he narrowed his eyes at the collection of people on the other side of the door. 

There was a Ministry official in mauve robes wearing the expression that he’d drawn the short straw in dealing with them, and held a clipboard defensively in front of his chest. He was waiting for them, flanked by six Aurors who took one look at who was on the other side of the door when it opened and then glanced at each other as if they’d not been told what their reason for being here was. 

Severus resisted the urge to mock aloud that they had only brought half a dozen Aurors to stand up against both him and Hermione, which would not be enough if they thought to truly fight their way out of this. He was certain that on a bad day they could toss the lot of them on their asses, and this was an exceptionally bad day. But it was not going to help either of them, and his only objective at this point was to get this over with and get out of the Ministry. 

When the official asked if they were willing to submit to the law, he felt Hermione tighten her hold on his hand, as if she were bracing for whatever came next. 

“Obviously we are, let’s get on with it,” Severus snarled, stepping over the threshold and leading Hermione to follow him at his side.

The official seemed to relax, as did his retinue of Aurors, as he took a step back and gestured for Severus and Hermione to walk into the adjacent courtroom. He cut his eyes at them as he passed, daring them to make any move he deemed threatening. As much as Severus wanted to escape the hold that the Ministry had placed on his life, he was also looking for a reason to explode on it.

Unfortunately, today, his reputation preceded him, and the Aurors stood statuesque behind the official.

The courtroom was sickeningly overdecorated in white and ivory. Obscenely large white bows hung from each bench of seating, all filled to the brim with people who had supported this archaic law and the ghastly press. Already, he could hear the snapping of the photos and see the bright flashes, and he wanted nothing more than for this whole room to burst into a fiery inferno and take every last one of these idiots with it.

He didn’t give them the satisfaction of emotion as he heard their names called for them to be summoned before the judge. His stone-faced demeanor had served him well anytime he had to deal with the press in the past. The same official that had greeted them at the door scurried to the front with them, presenting the judge with what he could only assume was their marriage certificate to be reviewed. When the form was returned to the official, stamped, Severus knew the rest was merely a formality; their fates were sealed. 

Facing Hermione when instructed, he repeated the vows and the promises, his own voice sounding distant as he maintained his hold on the rage boiling under his calm demeanor. Her brown eyes stared into his as she did the same, rings were exchanged, and the part he had dreaded most was demanded to be performed. 

“You may now kiss your bride.”

The words were a mockery of their origin, dragging distaste up his esophagus with bile and resentment for being put in this position in the first place and having to consent to this spellshot wedding. Hermione was staring at him, expectantly, and he could read her fear and fury in them as clearly as if she were screaming in his face. Drawing a breath through his nose, he leaned forward, letting his lips barely touch hers before he quickly withdrew. His glare swept the room, daring anyone to urge him to do more at their own risk. 

There was an unnecessary shockwave of applause as he returned his gaze to Hermione. Her expression was somewhere between a grimace and a scowl as she looked at the people cheering for this farce.

The official came to stand beside them, grandstanding as he spoke. “I present, Mister and Missus Severus Sna—”

It was a split-second decision, but Severus cut him off sharply. “I will be taking my wife’s surname; it is Severus Granger now.”

“Severus?” Hermione’s voice echoed the confusion filling the courtroom. 

The official deflated, his hands looking at the form in his hands and then at the judge and then finally at Severus as he sputtered around his words. “I—but—what—you cannot do that!”

“Can’t I?” Severus drawled, releasing Hermione’s hand to loom over the man who challenged him, letting some of his anger color his words dangerously. “I do believe that the law states that either surname is acceptable to be taken and that even hyphenation is available for the married couples under this law?”

The official took a wary step back, his eyes darting to the aurors around the room. “So you want to be Snape-Granger?”

“No.” This was not something that Severus was going to budge on or allow the Ministry to wiggle around. They were forcing him to play their game, he was going to play it by their rules, even if they hadn’t thought out how that would pan out. 

Raising his voice so that the whole courtroom could hear him, he bore down on the little man with his little clipboard who thought he was safe just because he was in a room full of people. “I suggest you listen carefully, as I am loath to repeat myself; I am going to become Severus Tobias Granger, and she,” he paused to point at Hermione, “is going to remain Hermione Jean Granger.” Severus turned his gaze to the onlookers, letting his dramatic flair shine with the fuel of his fury behind it. “I am within my rights to take my wife's name in accordance with the law, and she need not be saddled with the reputation that comes with mine. I can foresee many such circumstances where she could be mistaken for the wrong Snape. I am protecting her from such a situation, as is my responsibility as a husband, is it not?” His last statement was pointed directly at the judge.

The official, shaken but still trying to maintain his hold over the situation, turned to Hermione. “I—er—Missus, do you agree?”

A hollow laugh escaped her as she stared at the man in disbelief. “Oh, now you want my consent? How absurd! If Severus chooses to take my name, I am not against it.”

Severus inclined his head toward her before turning his attention back to the official. “Now, write the correct names on that certificate, and we can be on our way. Unless you are insistent on wasting more of my—our—time.”

“Um, sir?” The official turned to the judge for guidance and perhaps a rescue from Severus’ attention. 

The judge looked down from his raised dais, meeting Severus's gaze for a long moment before he sat back in his chair, surveying the crowd. “It is allowable under the law. The Ministry recognizes that Severus Tobias Snape is taking his wife’s surname and shall henceforth legally be Severus Tobias Granger, while his wife retains her maiden name of Hermione Jean Granger.” The clack of the gavel against the wood echoed through the room, followed quickly by scandalized whispers and snapping photographs.

“I present Mister and Missus Severus Granger,” the official crowed with less showmanship than his first attempt. “The Ministry recognizes their marriage as legally and magically binding under the Wizarding Marriage Act of 2002. Per the requirements of such act, you will be required to produce an—"

“We are both highly literate, we know what your law dictates,” Severus interrupted with a growl. “Are you going to tell us something we don’t know, or are you speaking only to hear your own voice?”

“—an heir within the next two years,” the official continued, eyes glued to his clipboard to avoid Severus’ gaze as he continued reading. “Missus Granger will reside with you in your residence, Mister Granger, as she does not have a permanent residence of her own. You will be hearing from the Ministry when your legally mandated natal checks are due. May your union be fruitful. You are free to leave.”

Those words had barely fallen from the man’s lips before Severus was taking Hermione’s hand and leading her out of this farce of a courtroom. Laser-focused on the exit, he did not spare a glance to anyone until they were on the main floor of the Ministry. Only then did he stop and turn to Hermione, taking in a breath so as to not take his anger out on her. 

It just then occurred to him that he had practically dragged her out of the courtroom without ensuring she had everything she needed. Releasing her hand, he asked her quietly, “Do you have your belongings?”

“They will be sent along,” she paused, a mournful frown ticking at the corner of her mouth as she glanced at the fire, rubbing her hand. “Except for Crookshanks, I sent him to Hagrid’s.”

That made everything exceedingly easier, they didn’t have any public place they would have to visit before going to his home. Severus gave a passing glare to a group of onlookers who had stopped and noticed them. “Are you ready to leave this blasted place?”

“As much as you are,” she breathed out, seeing where he was glaring and frowning deeper. She strode into the floo, turning and waiting for him to join her. 

Severus sent one last mental curse at this hell painted in gold and brick and joined her in the fireplace, quietly murmuring the address for only her ears to hear. “Spinner’s End, Cokesworth.”

The fire coiled around their forms, a swirl of green transporting them from the Ministry Atrium to his familiar sitting room. Some of the tension from feeling held against his will fell away as he breathed in the welcoming scent of old books, leather, and that distinctive smell of old house that he always associated with being home. Severus stepped further into the room, removing his coat and tucking it over his arm.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hermione announced as she came to stand next to him surveying the room.

He glanced down at her with curiosity, unsure exactly which ‘that’ she meant. “I am not sure what you are referring to.”

She looked up at him with a wisp of gratitude in her faint smile. “Taking my name, not making me change mine, and keeping them from taking one more thing away from me.”

It had not occurred to him she would have seen changing her last name as something she had forcibly taken from her. Severus had made the decision on a whim, another way to throw the show they were putting on off-kilter and be a thorn in their sides that they couldn’t fight without nullifying the whole law. His last name was not something he ever had a great deal of pride in, and so taking hers was not some great affront to him. It was more selfish than out of concern for her, but he was not about to let her know that. There were easily a dozen reasons why it would benefit her to keep her name, and so he chose the most reasonable one to cite. One that would hopefully prove to her that he was her ally and not her enemy.

“It is far easier for me to get my name changed on my already earned and established mastery than it would be for you to change all of your documentation for the university. They could use it to try to disenroll you, or a number of other frustrating options. This will also prevent them from trying to remove credits you’ve already earned in the 'paperwork,'" Severus explained, realizing that in his rashness he may have saved her a great deal of headache. His trust in the establishment had never been high, and with the newest obligation it had thrust on his life, it had sunk to an all-time low. Even though the university was not run by the Ministry, it was still likely there were those among the academics who supported what was happening in this country. He noticed her expression had taken on an expression he read as both confusion and realization. Perhaps she had not considered the chances of the name change causing her issues. Severus began to cross the room, the reason he had cited in the courtroom coming back to him. He had meant it when there was a real concern that someone seeking vengeance on him for a real or imagined slight from a war six years past could fall upon her, mistaking her for the wrong Snape. “Additionally, I was in earnest that I do not want someone to attack you when they were aiming for me.”

“Nevertheless, thank you,” she replied, standing in place just beyond the fire grate, glancing around the room. Her hands were worried into the fabric of the white silk dress she wore again, and it was a reminder that she had been thrust into this chaos with him.

“Do not thank me yet, the work has just begun,” Severus declared, stepping toward the cloak closet and tucking his coat on to its hanger. He would not be able to settle until she was settled, and so that was his next course of action. “Come, let us tour the house.”

Severus gestured toward the sitting room, which was brimming with books on nearly every surface. He’d managed, before being arrested, to clear one corner of the room to accommodate her needs. It had been inevitable that the marriage was going to happen; he’d determined that when the last case was tossed out by the judge and he was held in contempt, so he’d begun to make what changes he could before she got here. 

“We will have to make further adjustments for your belongings to fit in amongst my own, but I am not attached to very many items in here. It will be easy enough for me to remove them as you settle in,” Severus explained as he gestured to the sitting room and then finally to the empty side of the room. “You may set up your own manner of study in this area.”

For her part, she was quiet, but he could see her examining the room and taking in his words as he spoke. He walked her through the small kitchen, which had been perfect for him but he realized would be cramped if both of them were in it at the same time trying to do any manner of cooking. 

From there he led her through the hidden door behind the bookcase, stopping on the first landing to gesture toward the stairs going down and stopping at a heavy wooden door. “I work from home, my lab is through that door. Do not enter that room without my express permission. I work with several unstable elements, and I have no desire for accidents. I am sure your friends would paint me an even bigger blackguard if you were to end up with accidental chemical burns or set on fire.”

Hermione sighed deeply, shaking her head. “They haven’t, well, Harry hasn’t assumed you will be cruel to me, so you don’t have to worry about him ‘painting you a blackguard.'"

“A benefit to you far more than me, I am sure.” That Potter hadn’t had something cross to say about this arrangement surprised him a little, but he expected that the respect the man had fostered toward Severus might have aided in that. 

Climbing the stairs that had tomes on each step lining up the whole way, Severus walked toward the closest door on the first-floor landing. 

“This is the master, and—” His words died on his lips as he turned to see Hermione with a white-knuckle grip on the banister, her feet firmly planted on the stairs. 

There was a ghost of poorly concealed fear in her eyes as she gazed from him to the door. “I just—give me a moment.”

“Hermione, there is no reason to hesitate at the top stair.” Crossing the landing away from the door, he stopped just out of arm's length. It had not occurred to him that she would have thought the moment they went into a bedroom that he would expect her to ‘perform her legal duties.' The desire for clarity in his intentions had him explaining to her what he had hoped to tell her once she was more settled. “The law does not require that we consummate this preposterous marriage tonight, and we will not be forced to breed like crups at their whims. You’ve been traumatized enough today, we will not add undesired intimacy on top of a wandpoint wedding.” Severus placed his hand over his chest, hoping to impress the seriousness of his words upon her. “I give you my word, sleep is all we will be doing in this house tonight and for the foreseeable future.”

“I won’t lie and say I’m not relieved to hear you say that.” The breath she was holding exploded out of her, and her grip on the banister loosened as her other hand smoothed down the side of her face. “I don’t know if I could stand it if we had to. No offense to you, merely today has been a lot, and nothing like I imagined in the worst ways.”

“None taken,” Severus assured her. He was not exactly enamored with the idea of being forced to copulate with someone he had only previously known on an academic basis either. “I want to make it clear that we will be fighting this law, even while we are trapped within it. Malicious compliance is going to be one of our greatest weapons. That is how I intend to approach their forced cohabitation requirements until we have a better solution. It says you must sleep under the same roof as I, not that you must sleep in the same bed or even the same room. What I was saying, before I noticed your hesitation, is that I am giving you the master bedroom.”

Severus crossed the hall to the other, farther door, sweeping his hand toward it as he spoke. “I will be sleeping here, across the hall from you. We will share the lavatory, as this is the only one in the house. Otherwise, you shall have your own space.”

Hermione shook her head rapidly, frowning as she looked between the two doors. “You don’t have to put yourself out; I can take the smaller room. This is your house.”

“Legally, this is our house now,” he retorted in an attempt at humor, “and I do not want you in the smaller room. It is my childhood bedroom, and it does not feel right to me to have you sleep in there.” He invited her to look into the room he had settled into before the Ministry had come for him. His bed had fit just perfectly against the one wall, and his chest of drawers and night stand were each on their own wall so as to not make it impossibly cramped. “As you can see, I have already moved my things to it. You should settle into your room. I will send up your belongings as soon as they arrive, and I shall call for your cat to be delivered tonight,” Severus told her, urging her toward the room that would be hers. 

She stopped in her tracks, looking at him as if he had grown a second head and begun to speak in Greek. “You’ll let me have him here?”

Another thing that had not occurred to him, it seemed. She had said she’d sent her cat to Hagrid's, and he’d assumed that she meant for safekeeping while they were held hostage at the Ministry until they agreed to marry each other. It dawned on him that she had sent her cat there because she was under the impression that he was going to keep her from having him. 

Merlin, he wished those that claimed to see him as a reformed man would actually behave as if they did. 

“While I am not fond of animals, I am not so cruel as to keep you from your familiar. Yes, the cat will live here with you, and you shall keep after him,” Severus pointed out, making it clear he had no desire to take on the care of such a beast in his house. “I shall call Hagrid to send him as soon as he is able, unless you prefer him to be here later.”

“No, I would like him here as soon as possible, if you don’t mind.” Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, and he wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t going to press the issue. Merlin knew there was a plethora of reasons the woman had to cry about today. 

“Consider it done,” he confirmed, turning to step down the stairs. His stomach reminded him that it had been several hours since he’d actually eaten something, and he suspected that it had been the same for her. “Do you have a dinner preference?”

“I’m not very hungry,” she replied, still standing at the threshold of the room, peering into it anxiously.

Severus would not have it said that he allowed her to starve. “Not the question, Granger.”

Her head jerked in his direction, eyes wide and the first true spark of amusement on her face shining through. “You kept my name so you could still call me that, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” he smirked, adding that to the list he would cite if he were asked by anyone else why he took her name. “Now, dinner preference?”

A thoughtful expression crossed her face as she appeared to be debating options before settling on one. “Um, curry?”

With a nod of acknowledgement, he turned toward the stairs. Curry was something he knew how to cook, and the preparation would give him time to release some of the lingering anger from the day’s events. He stopped before descending, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Settle in and put this whole ordeal to rest for the evening. We will discuss how we shall contend with this law, and how we will arrange our lives in the morning.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Gentle yet loud purring against her side roused her from her slumber, as did the tell-tale push and pull of Crooks’ paws as he made biscuits in the duvet next to her. Hermione didn’t open her eyes, even though she was wide awake now. She knew yesterday was real, that she’d been forced into a marriage that reduced her to little more than an intelligent uterus. She knew that the universe wouldn’t give her the easy way out of just waking up and suddenly being back in her dormitory, her obnoxious roommate, Lavender, snoring with her mouth open a few feet away and the bells ringing over the campus. She wouldn’t be able to sit up and laugh at herself for such a wild dream, because she knew in her bones it was real. 

But if she kept her eyes closed and ignored how the room around her didn’t sound, smell, or feel like her dorm at uni, she could pretend that the previous day was a nightmare for only a few moments longer. She ignored her bladder’s protests as she lay perfectly still in a bed that wasn’t hers. The sheets were soft and worn in; the mattress was broken in, set to conform to a shape that was not hers. It felt wrong, but not unsafe. Straining her ears, the only sounds in the room were her own breathing and her familiar’s loud, steady purring. 

Finally, she had to let go of the fantasy that she was safely in the brick walls of Ravensdorm University and instead in the home of someone she barely knew. Opening her eyes, she found a drab grey ceiling looming over her. Scanning the room, her gaze settled on the door, the broomstick she’d leaned against it was still precisely as she had set it. It was a trick she’d learned from Lavender in her first year of uni, it was an almost foolproof way to tell if someone’d opened your door while sleeping without any magic that could be detected. If the door were moved at all, the broomstick would clatter to the floor and alert her. That it was still in place gave her a sense of security that perhaps Severus had meant what he said.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think he was a man of his word, in fact, she thought rather highly of him because he was trustworthy. However, the whole world had seemed to go mad, and she wasn’t certain if he had changed with it. Her roommates had worried with her late at night over the law and what it meant and what their enforced husbands might impose upon them. When it had been announced who she’d been matched with, her fellows' fretting had gone from worry to genuine fear for her safety. Hermione felt slightly bad that she’d taken some of it to heart, especially now that she found herself in bed in exactly the same state she’d been in when she’d fallen to sleep.

Crookshanks mewed at her, rubbing his face against hers in a way that did not show his affection so much as it was a demand for her to get up and feed him. She sighed, preparing herself mentally as best she could for every unknown she could face at the hands of Severus Snape.

No, Severus Granger.

A warmth of gratitude crowded her mind as she felt the impending desire to cry. He’d given up his own name to preserve hers, to protect her from those that would try to halt her education. The subtle guilt of believing that he might prey upon her being trapped in this situation grew slightly. He didn’t have to give up his name for her. 

Another sign that he’d not gone mad with the world around them. If he were the same man he’d been when she was a student over half a decade before, and he truly loathed this law as much as he’d acted at the ceremony, then Hermione might have secured her biggest ally. She wouldn’t know until she sought him out to ‘arrange’ their lives under this law.

Slipping out of the bed, she shuffled to the door, floorboards creaking under her feet, and moved the broomstick to lean against the wall. Carefully cracking open the door, she found the landing empty, as well as the doors to both his room and the lavatory open. 

Crooks did not seem to understand this was a situation for caution, as he slunk past her without a care in the world, hopping up on to the banister and staring at her with a flick of his tail as if he were telling her she was being absurd. She probably was; the floorboards had likely given away that she was moving about. Taking in a confident breath, she stepped into the hall and then took herself to the bathroom to resolve the urgency of her bladder.

Looking in the mirror as she washed her hands, Hermione noted that her hair was wildly out of control. The pillowcase she’d slept on wasn’t silk, and that meant it would be at least an hour, if not more, of trying to tame the frizz when she sat down to do it. She’d have to dig out her pillowcases from the shrunken luggage before she went to sleep tonight if she wanted to avoid this in the future. She laughed at herself, laughed at the focus on the mundanity of her hair in the wake of this massive upheaval in her life. 

It was ridiculous, but at least it was something she had some control over. 

Crookshanks pawed under the door, his little orange foot slipping under and his toes spreading out like he was trying to reach her and pull her under it to do her duty and feed him.

"Duty"—she shuddered at a word that hadn’t had such weight before. 

The Ministry had decided that it was now her duty to provide the next generation of wizards. With the decline in birthrates and the massive death from the war they’d largely ignored until it was too late, the population was too low and was unable to sustain itself. An old archaic law was pulled up from the depths of the Ministry, a marriage law meant to force a population boost. It had come originally from the late 1500s, just after the peak of the witch hunts, as a way to save wizardkind from extinction. It was being used now as a weapon to frighten those who feared that same sort of collapse, even when there was no data to back it up. Hermione suspected it was a way to punish her age group, as many of them had chosen career and betterment of the world over settling down and making babies.

She shook her head from her musing and faced her fate, leaving the bathroom and making her way down the stairs quietly. As she descended, Crookshanks prancing down just a step before her, a familiar and welcoming scent drifted up to her. The hidden door was open, and from that opening she could smell breakfast. It smelled like pancakes.

Stepping into the sitting room, she saw that a desk had been placed in the empty section of the room he’d told her that she could use as a study. It hadn’t been there the day before, or if it had, she hadn’t noticed in the wake of everything else going on. She didn’t see Severus, though, and so she padded across the thick rug over the wooden floor toward the kitchen. She caught sight of his back, he was working at the stove, and she froze, unsure of what her next actions should be.

“Coffee is done, I don’t know how you take it,” he said, turning his head to glance at her. He gestured with his gaze and a lift of his eyebrows toward a coffee pot set next to two mugs on the counter before he turned back to the stove. 

“Thank you,” she squeaked out, falling back on politeness to offset her left-footedness. Hermione hadn’t known what she would find when she came downstairs, but Severus in lounge pants and a shirt making pancakes was not it. It was the aroma of fresh coffee that kept her from hesitating at the entry of the kitchen. 

Both mugs were identical blue ceramic cups that felt almost too common to be here. Carefully, she picked up the pot and set about making her coffee, her eyes occasionally darting to him every time he moved or made a sound as she did so.

The slide of ceramic plates against each other drew her attention as he withdrew two plates from the cabinet at his side. Crookshanks’ purring devolved into a full meow as he stood at her ankles, pushing against her sleeping pants so firmly that they were sliding up her ankles.

"Your familiar's bowls are in the sitting room, I would prefer not to eat cat hair if it is avoidable." Severus interjected into her thoughts, gesturing toward the room she’d just entered from.

“I’ll be sure to try to keep him and his hair out of the kitchen.” Hermione placed the coffee cup she’d just made down quickly, ushering Crookshanks out of the kitchen with her feet and hands. He did not take kindly to being shooed, his tail up as he flicked it irritatedly back at her, his golden eyes looking at her with an accusation that said, 'Mother, how could you?'

“Thank you,” Severus replied as she heard him set the plates down on the counter behind him. “I assume you will eat pancakes?”

“Yes, I will,” Hermione agreed, still fighting with her familiar who had decided that this great offense meant she should go to jail for a thousand years and had turned his back to her. He sat on the floor, cleaning his front paw, ignoring her attempts to move him. 

“Very well, they will be done shortly. Once you’ve tended to him, make yourself comfortable at the table,” Severus responded, and Hermione thought she heard a whisper of humor in his voice.

After another moment of trying to shoo him, she gave up, wrapping her arms around him and carrying him out of the room. He meowed in protest, and she could almost hear his indignation at her using her bigger size to force him to move. 

Hermione found Crookshanks' bowls tucked along the wall just outside the kitchen. They were sitting in a tray she’d never seen before; the water bowl was filled, and his food container was next to the bowls. She opened the container, carefully pouring his kibble into the bowl so as to not get it on the floor. 

As soon as he heard the plink plink plink of his food in his bowl, Crookshanks went back to purring, rubbing against her bent knees once in affection before shoving his flat face into his bowl. 

“Alright, you stay out here,” she told him, hoping the food would be enough of a distraction for her to find out where he was and wasn’t allowed. 

She made her way back to the kitchen, trying to not invade his space as she washed her hands in the sink before going back to her cup of coffee. She picked it up, holding it to her chest as she turned to look at the small table tucked into the side of the kitchen. It was clear that he’d already been sitting at one of the seats, the chair was pulled out, and the Daily Prophet was refolded haphazardly. 

Sitting in the opposite chair, she tucked her clasped hands between her thighs, crossing her ankles as she let the quiet sink onto her shoulders. It wasn’t silent; there was the tick tick tick of a clock echoing through the room and the sizzling sound of his cooking to accompany it, but even so, the quiet felt heavy and oppressive. The steam curled and swirled above her coffee, but she didn’t feel much like drinking or eating, a knot of anxiety twisting in her guts like a devil’s snare in darkness.

“Here you are,” he said quietly as he crossed the room to the table, setting a plate with two Scottish-style pancakes on it in front of her. Cutlery was summoned to the table, and a fork and knife settled on the table next to her.

“Thank you,” she breathed out. “They smell delicious.”

Severus made a hum of approval as he sat down across from her with his own plate and coffee cup. A butter dish and a deep purple jam settled down between them clearly summoned by him. He took a drink of his coffee before starting to spread jam over his food. 

Hermione picked up her fork and knife and began to spread butter on hers. The quiet was now invaded by the sounds of cutlery gently against ceramic, and she didn’t know how to process this. It was so normal, almost domestic, and nothing like she suspected. Part of her was horrified because she expected something to change at any moment, and the other part of her was questioning if she was still dreaming.

“Did you sleep well?” he interrupted her thoughts.

“I did, thank you.” When she did fall asleep, it was restful, so she nodded politely, moving a bite of pancake around the plate, debating if he would be angered if she didn’t eat, but her stomach was doing evasive maneuvers in the wake of her growing trepidation. The normalcy of this all was more unnerving than if he’d simply snarled and yelled at her—that she knew how to handle—or even if he was less than pleasant, but this was shaking her worldview.

Severus continued to eat his breakfast, pausing between bites to speak again. “I noted you didn’t bring any furniture, and it occurred to me that it had all been provided by the university, so I procured a desk for you from the attic. It is old, but it is sturdy, and I hope it is suitable for your use." He gestured toward the other room with his hand.

So, she was right that the desk was a new placement. Still unsure of what this kindness meant, she nodded softly again. “That was kind of you.” She reached for her coffee cup, hoping that perhaps she would be better able to attempt to keep that down.

“Hermione.” The sound of his cutlery being put down on his plate caught her attention, and she was sure she’d upset him.

“Yes,” she hesitated, certain she was about to be yelled at.

His dark eyes fixed on hers, and where she expected to find anger was instead exasperation. A deep sigh left him as he placed both hands on the table flatly. “I am not going to leap across the table and savage you. Could you stop regarding me as if you are eating breakfast with a dragon?"

Her jaw fell open in surprise at being called out. Part of her had hoped that he wouldn’t have noticed that she was so apprehensive around him, even as her logical brain knew that he would have. His expectant gaze had her fumbling for words, and she took in a deep breath. 

“I’m—” She was what? She was sorry, stressed, upset, worried, concerned, and buried deep under all of it was a helpless anger that she didn’t dare acknowledge, or else it would consume her. But mostly, Hermione was stunned in this moment, as of all the imagined scenarios she’d cobbled together in her mind, this was not one of them. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wasn’t it.”

Severus interwove his fingers together in front of his chin, examining her as he drawled. “What, pray tell, did you expect?”

Hermione had expected him to take all that rage he showed at the courthouse out on her, she expected to find the same sour man who had taught her in school. She expected him to treat her with the same level of contempt she watched him regard the world around him with. But she wasn’t going to say that to his face. “I don’t exactly know you, to know what to expect.”

“Nor do I know you, nor do I know what to expect from you,” he agreed, unfolding his hands to continue his breakfast. “But I assume you don’t intend to attack me over breakfast.”

“I don’t,” she agreed, the thought having passed through her mind that he might have considered she’d be hostile to him. 

An amused smirk turned his face into an expression she was very unfamiliar with. “Good, I would hate to give the press any more fodder,” he told her as he gestured toward the paper at his elbow.

The groan that escaped her was unstoppable as she glanced in its direction. “Do I want to look at the Daily Prophet?”

“Do you ever want to look at it?” Severus quipped back, taking another bite of the pancake before him. 

There were a few things she did like about the paper, which is why she maintained a subscription. While the news was something she skimmed only to see if it was something relevant to her life at the time, she enjoyed the challenge of solving some of the problems in the back section. “I find I like the crossword and the book reviews.”

He inclined his head, swallowing before responding to her. “Another similarity between us, I additionally like the comics.”

She blinked at him in disbelief. Severus Snape liked the comics in the newspaper. Had she fallen through the mattress into a parallel universe? Had she woken up on the other side of the mirror? “You do?”

“I do. I find them typically humorous, though sometimes a little on the nose." He tapped his index finger against his own nose with a smile.

Hermione giggled, in part nervously and in part because she knew that several comics about him had made fun of his nose. 

Her laughter seemed to ease the tension in the air, and he chuckled as well. “See, I do have a sense of humor.”

“I can see that,” she replied, deciding at that moment that maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as her anxieties had convinced her it would be. She managed to drink some of her coffee, holding the mug in her hands as she let the warmth of it relax the tightness in her shoulders. 

Severus finished his meal, wiping his face with his napkin before looking at her with an arched eyebrow. “Do you wish to discuss where we plan to go from here now or after you finish poking at your breakfast?”

She set the cup down, looking at the pancakes that she’d really only cut. She didn’t feel like eating; even with the tension broken, the unknown of the future was fertilizer for the growing knot in her, and she didn’t think she’d be able to eat until she knew where they stood. “Now is fine.”

“Very well,” Severus sent his plate to the sink with a flick of his wand, crossing his arms on the table where it had been a moment before. “In the interest of being transparent, I want you to understand I don’t have a clear plan to overturn this law. So far, every one of my attempts has been thwarted; however, I am sure that between the two of us, we can come up with something.”

That his first topic choice was overturning the law eased the knot a little more, as that is what she wanted more than anything. She wanted to go back to her life, planned the way she wanted it, and not dictated by the Ministry. The only problem is that she was in the same position as he was. “I don’t have a clear plan either, I tried to fight it through the courts, and you saw how well that went.” The legal battle had been long and tedious, only able to stay the law for a year before her case was ruled in favor of the Ministry and its need to preserve the wizarding race.

“It was a valiant attempt,” he complimented, inclining his head in what she assumed was respect. “Since neither of us has any clear plan, I suggest we continue to investigate avenues. I feel public opinion has significant sway on this, but as you can imagine, I am no media darling.”

“Nor am I, most of the time,” she laughed depreciatingly. “Not unless they want to rehash the ‘glory of the war’ and call me the Heroine along with the Heroes."

Severus snorted, rolling his eyes. “The Heroine and the Blackguard, what a pair we are.”

Hermione furrowed her forehead at his statement, it brought up the one thing that hadn’t made sense this entire time. Her peers were matched with partners closer to their age, and she could only think of one pairing with a large age gap. “Yes, it is strange that they put us together.”

“I believe it is deliberate,” he said pointedly, taking a drink of his coffee.

“You do?” she asked. It was something she suspected as well, but she hadn’t been able to determine what the purpose of it was. It didn’t make logical sense to her as to why they wouldn’t pair him with someone more his own age and standing.

“It's a case of assumed genetics,” he drawled, his tone taking on one she recognized as a lecturing tone. “Not that they understand what genetics does like the Muggles do, or even what it is. They assume that since I am brilliant and you are brilliant, any children we create will be predisposed to be as brilliant, regardless of the reasons either of us are as intelligent as we are.” He paused, his lips twisting as if he were debating saying something, before he continued. “I also suspect it is a way to keep our brilliance on the ‘Muggle side’ of the line.”

Hermione studied his expression for a moment before asking for clarification. “The Muggle side of the line?”

Severus nodded. “I am unsure how closely you followed the matches, but if you examine them, very few of them are between an old pureblood bloodline and a half-blood. It is even more dramatically less an old bloodline matched to a Muggleborn.” He paused to take another drink of his coffee. “Most of the purebloods were matched to each other, likely in line with old alliances and arranged marriages created long before this law was resurrected, and then a choice few were cherry-picked for matches, while everyone else was shuffled together.”

His words sunk in, and she examined them. She’d not paid much attention to the matches that weren’t hers or directly related to her friends, because she was too focused on fighting it. The audacity of removing her right to consent to a marriage had inflamed her so much that little else crossed her attention. But as she thought about it, there were a few of her friends who did get to keep their engagements. Hannah and Neville, Draco and Astoria, and Harry and Ginny were allowed to marry each other, while others, such as Ron and Cho, were severed and forced to marry Milicent and Blaise, respectively. It didn’t make sense. “How did they get to have the matches created before the law? They broke up Ron and Cho, who were engaged to be married within a few weeks, to marry him to Millicent and her to Blaise.”

“Money and influence,” he grumbled, glancing into his now empty coffee cup. “While you and I both have those things, we don’t have the right places to donate it or the right ears to speak into. Which is why our loud rallying against the law was villainized."

“So, it’s rigged for some, but not all, even with all the declarations of fairness,” she scoffed, though if she thought about it, it made more sense for how she perceived the Ministry to be crooked even years after the reformation of it after the war.

“Absolutely, and if I had to guess,” he pointed to himself and to her as he spoke, “our match was also to pit us against each other as much as it was to create genius wizarding progeny.”

That surprised her. 

Why would they assume that matching them would pit them against each other? Hermione had been one of Severus’ most stalwart defenders after the war. She’d spent six years of her childhood trying to convince Harry that he wasn’t as evil as he was assumed to be, and once Harry revealed what he knew, she’d known she was right all along. He’d publicly apologized to her, and she’d immediately accepted. They were never anything but cordial to each other in public, she never once disparaged him, and he treated her like he’d done everyone else. “What? How?”

“Granger, be sensible,” he instructed, shaking his head as he leaned forward, piercing her with his gaze. “Why on earth would they put you, a 23-year-old young woman, with a man 19 years your senior,” he held up one finger with each new revelation, “who was also your professor, who you also fought against in a war, who is also someone who used to be a Death Eater, and who has a reputation for being cruel? You are smart enough to connect what they are assuming.”

She glanced down at the table, her eyes moving back and forth as she considered this side of the situation. It didn’t take her long to realize that he was right. Anyone who knew her at just a media level might have assumed there was mutual hostility between them, that she was insincere when she’d accepted his apology. Hermione had been painted as both a bastion of goodness and a manipulative siren by the media; it would be hard to know who she truly was. “They are expecting my acceptance of your apology to be lip service, that I harbor some hate and resentment toward you from the past. They don’t know that I always knew you weren’t as bad as Harry thought or that I spent our school years trying to convince him.”

Glancing up at him with her realization, she saw surprise on his face as he regarded her curiously before speaking. “Yes, and they expect me to treat you terribly and hold old grudges for things you shouldn’t even have been involved in at your age. If we are fighting each other, we cannot fight them,” he declared. “Lock two rats in a barrel and you end up with no rats; they will kill each other, there is never a victor.”

“That is vile,” Hermione balked at both the imagery and the idea that someone had concocted this for them.

“It is,” he agreed. “Which is why I am doing my level best to earnestly cement myself as your ally and not your enemy. I meant what I said in that waiting room.”

He’d said a lot of things in that waiting room, and now Hermione had more than started to believe that he’d been telling the truth. “So you meant it when you agreed that my life isn’t over.”

“It is not over, and I will do what is in my power to ensure that,” Severus promised, relaxing in his chair. “I do not want this marriage to change your life anymore than it will change mine.”

“So you will still allow me to attend my courses?” she asked without fully thinking it through. The fear of having her education ripped from her had kept her up at night for weeks, and she wanted to hear that it wasn’t the case.

Severus narrowed his eyes at her as if she’d offended him. “I fully expect you to still attend them and will be highly cross with you if you do not. I will even avail myself to you if you need assistance with your coursework. While I understand your masteries are in Herbology and Arithmancy, and not Potions or Alchemy, I am well-read and am sure I can be of some service to you should you need it.” 

The guilt she’d felt that morning grew exponentially, partially displacing the knot of anxiety as she came to terms with the fact that he was still the trustworthy man she’d believed him to be after the war. That the madness of the world hadn’t changed him at all and the scary image she’d conjured of her future with him had been only a phantom of her fears. “You’d give up your free time to help me study?”

“If I have it available,” he offered, standing from the table to pour himself another cup of coffee. He turned around at the counter, leaning against it as he took in another drink. “I feel like we should discuss how we are going to conduct our lives during this forced cohabitation. I fully intend to continue my work, for one.”

“Please don’t think me rude, but I don’t know what you do,” Hermione announced, taking her first bite of the breakfast he’d prepared. It was as good as it smelled, and her stomach, instead of protesting, welcomed the nourishment. 

“I operate a private alchemy business, where I provide complicated potions to patrons via mail order or other means of delivery.” His long fingers tapped against the side of his cup as he spoke. “I am typically brewing between nine and fifteen different orders at a time. One of my most requested is Wolfsbane, but I also produce exotic antitoxins and other alchemical brews. This is why I do not want you in the lab unless I am there.”

While the profession suited the image she had of him in her mind, it made her realize that he was a bit of a hermit. Not that that also didn’t fit in with her mental portfolio of ideas about him. “So, you never have to leave your house for this?”

“Occasionally I do in-person deliveries, depending on the requirements of the order. But typically, I do not." Severus glanced at her, and realization crossed his expression. “I do, however, leave for other reasons, such as going to the shops or acquiring something I need here. You aren’t trapped in the house; you may come and go as you please.”

Not exactly as she pleased, the law dictated that she wasn’t allowed to sleep anywhere but in his domicile. “As long as I sleep here.”

“As long as you sleep here, yes,” Severus groused, shaking his head as he lifted his cup to take another drink of his coffee. 

Hermione took another bite, feeling better with each one. It was so strange to see him so casual, leaning against a counter, drinking a cup of coffee in what she assumed was his pajamas, cracking jokes. 

“I do, however, expect that you inform me if you are going to be gone for a significant stretch of time in which I will have to mind your house beast," Severus interrupted her observations.

Immediately her fears of being separated from Crookshanks now that she’d gotten him back rose in the back of her mind, spoiling the calm she’d let herself settle into. She began to list out all the ways that she would make sure Crooks would not be an issue. “He’s very well behaved; he won’t scratch anything or damage anything, I promise. He will stay out from underfoot, and I can lock him in my room while I am in my classes if it will be an issue.”

“Hermione,” he said her name sharply, snapping her out of her frenzy. “I am not going to send your cat away. I merely would like to know if I need to ensure he has food and water.”

“I am sorry. I know you are trying to be accommodating, and I am not trying to offend you,” she apologized, running her fingers through her frizzy hair and getting it tangled a bit. “But this isn’t easy. My whole world was just turned upside down.”

“I know it isn’t,” Severus empathized in a lower tone than the sharp retort he’d just used. “It is part of why I am putting in the effort to be as accommodating to you, but you are ruining my reputation every time I have to reassure you.”

“I’m sorry,” she frowned, putting down the fork as she turned toward him.

Severus snorted at her, giving her a thin-lipped smile. “It was a joke. One that obviously fell flat.”

“Oh,” she breathed out with a quiet chuckle for not getting it.

“Now that you are no longer so tense that you cannot eat, let's go over other expectations,” Severus continued, coming to sit across from her again.

She picked up the fork again, taking another bite before responding. “So, what do you expect from me while we are living like this?”

“I expect you shall clean up after yourself and him,” he gestured to Crookshanks, who sauntered into the kitchen as if he owned it, “and that you will continue your studies. I expect you to find every avenue you can to help us defeat this law and reclaim our lives. I expect you to respect me, and should you have guests, I would like to be informed so I can find some other occupation for myself, unless I am required to be there.” His lips twisted into something like a grimace as he continued. “Let me also be clear that I do not expect you to do anything you don’t want to, even if the law dictates it. I don’t expect this marriage to be anything more than a piece of paper filed at the courthouse. I have no expectations for your body, other than for you to not starve under my roof. I don’t expect you to stop living your life as you were before this. That includes if you have a paramour that is unknown to the public.”

Hermione nearly choked on the bite of pancake she was swallowing. “I’m not dating anyone, if that is what you are saying.”

Severus fixed her with a serious stare. “What I am saying is that it is none of my business,” he stated.

"And does that mean that your life is none of mine?” she wondered aloud.

He laughed.

Severus laughed aloud, tipping his head back for a moment before regaining his composure and shaking his head. “I am not romantically involved with anyone, if that is what you are asking. But I would like to retain certain levels of privacy about my life. I would like to have my private space not invaded, nor will I invade yours. There are also parts of my business you will not be privy to unless I feel it is something you are interested in or may help your studies.”

Hermione couldn’t help but feel like Severus was proposing a living situation that was not all too different from what she’d been doing in her dorms. The only difference is there was a legal mandate that she be here. “So, we’re basically roommates.”

“That is an arrangement I can agree with,” he hummed thoughtfully before turning serious. “Although, I must ask something of you.”

“Yes?” She tried to quiet the fear that this was another shoe about to drop. 

“There will be expectations of us when we are in public, and I would like to maintain a certain facade. I do not wish for us to pretend we are enchanted with each other, but I would ask that we conduct ourselves as if there is something going on behind closed doors,” he explained. The way he said ‘something’ could only mean one thing in this context.

“You want them to think we are sleeping together?” she confirmed, wondering why exactly that was something that mattered in this moment. It wasn’t the same as him expecting her to actually sleep with him, but she couldn’t help but feel concerned about why he wanted others to think that he was.

There was a hint of apprehension in his tone as he spoke. It reminded her of his expression when he’d had to face off against Minerva in the great hall. It wasn’t a good memory, and it put her on edge. “If they were willing to arrest us to force us to marry, I dread to think what they would do if we refused to adhere to their other stipulations.”

Her stomach turned upside down, almost forcing her barely won breakfast from her if she’d not clamped her hand over her mouth in shock. It had not occurred to her, but now that it had, she could see why it was prudent that no one knew they weren’t sleeping with each other. It took her a moment to regain her breath, and she nodded, voicing her agreement. “Oh! I absolutely agree; we need them to think we are complying.”

Severus' shoulders rounded and lowered, and he exhaled deeply through his nose as he appeared to relax. He gestured toward the window and the outside world. “If they think they have us bested, they will underestimate us. They may leave themselves open and leave a way out unguarded.”

His words were comforting in their defiance of the circumstances they were now in. It didn’t mean that she didn’t feel out of her depth and she was more than overwhelmed. Hermione wasn’t sure what they needed to do to promote that image, only that she was willing to commit to the bit. “So what do you propose?”

“Tame physical closeness,” Severus explained. “Hand holding, walking arm in arm, things that will not be too uncomfortable for either of us but enough to lead those watching us to believe we have some increased physical closeness, even if we conduct ourselves as normal cordial acquaintances. I don’t desire excessive displays of affection, and I suspect neither do you," he concluded with a sip of his coffee.

“And what if they find out it's a ruse?" she questioned, trying to think of how they would contest such an accusation or even fight off attempts to enforce it.

“We cross that bridge when we get there,” he replied, a bemused smirk creeping over his face. “I am leaning toward mass arson of the entire Ministry with fiendfyre as a back up plan.” 

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “Another joke.”

Severus arched his eyebrows at her, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps not completely a joke. Finish your breakfast.” He got up from the table, maneuvering past Crookshanks to the sink, where he began to wash up the dishes.

Looking at the plate, she had managed to nearly eat an entire pancake, which was more than the five bites of curry she’d managed to eat before scurrying up to her bedroom and securing the door the night before. She took another drink of her coffee, scrunching her face at its lukewarm state. Convincing herself to eat a few more bites, she managed half of the other pancake before she was done.

“I did forget to mention financials,” Severus announced from the sink. “I know you are a university student, and I also know that you likely have a sufficient sum tucked away from awards from the Ministry in the past and scholarships and grants. I want no part of dealing with your funds unless you decide you want some advice. I am more than capable of maintaining the household as it is. However…”

It was ‘however’ that sunk in her mind, and she turned to look at him, wondering what else he had to say.

Severus continued, setting a damp and sudsy plate in the dish strainer. “We will both be eating here, so I expect you to provide equitable contributions to the groceries.”

“Of course, that’s not an issue,” Hermione readily agreed. “And everything for Crooks, and anything I need, I will take care of as well. I won’t be a burden on you.”

“You couldn’t financially burden me if you tried, Granger,” Severus replied smugly. “You have some mail already, I do believe I saw one from Mister Krum.”

At the mention of the name, she leapt up, realizing she’d left her best friend in the dark since the day before she’d been ripped out of her classes and put under arrest. She walked over to the pile of letters, searching for his. “I forgot to update Viktor! He has been so worried about what is going on here. He offered to sweep me away to Bulgaria with him.”

“And you didn’t take his proposal?” Severus questioned with a tone that sounded surprised as he stood washing the cutlery.

She rolled her eyes, having been asked the same thing by several of her friends before. “Viktor and I are not compatible in that way.”

His curious humph echoed over the tap. “You aren’t required to indulge my curiosity, but why?”

A burst of amused chuckles left her, mostly because it would make sense that Severus didn’t know what she knew. “Well, I’m a woman for starters.”

“Oh?” he countered with more curiosity in his tone. “And this is a problem for him.”

“Yes, and also, his life is just not for me,” she confessed, pushing back her hair as she found the one with his unmistakable script.

“What does Mister Krum do now?” Severus probed.

“Whatever he wants,” Hermione quipped back. Her best friend's life was like the ocean, coming and going with the tides of his interest and passions. He hadn’t stayed in one spot for more than six months in the last several years, and that kind of vagabond life wasn’t what she wanted. She’d spent her time wandering, and she wanted some place stable where she knew she could land no matter how high the fall. “He still plays Quidditch when it is in season. When it’s not he surfs, mountain climbs, cave dives, and does every other dangerous occupation you could imagine. If it says, 'you could die’ in the warnings, he wants to conquer it,” she explained, opening the envelope, and the first thing she saw was his smiling face from the top of a mountain. 

He was in impossibly short climbing shorts, shirtless and sweaty, grinning wildly and waving to her from the image. Next to him was his ever-faithful companion wiggling and panting in the frame, his little climbing harness compressing his mane of fur. Hermione turned the photo to show Severus. “Oh, and he has the most adorable Pekingese named Master Fluffers, who he takes with him everywhere.”

Severus glanced at the photo, looked at her, and shook his head, going back to the dishes. “So, you two aren’t, or were never, an item?”

Hermione smiled warmly at seeing Viktor's face, feeling the same soft affection for him she always did. “We were, for a little while, but it was never right. I was his ‘discovery’ girlfriend.”

“Discovery girlfriend?” he questioned in confusion.

She wasn’t sure why she was confessing all of this to him, but it made her feel better to think of another time, before all of this. “I helped him discover he was into men, because he wasn’t into me.”

My Skŭp, 

I have heard of what those barbarians at the Ministry have forced you into. It is disgraceful, and I am shamed for them. The paper said you agreed only after you were arrested. The photos do not look as if you or Master Snape were pleased with this arrangement.

I wish you would have let me take you away from this practice. Bulgaria will have you if you but say the word.

Master Snape had better be treating you better than you deserve. Let him know that he is to treat you as the gift you are or else. And say that I say if it comes back to me that he has harmed you in any way, he shall have to deal with me. Show him how big my arms are, it will let him know I can crush him and will for you.

I await your letter, and if I do not get a response within two days, I shall come to Britain and save you.

You have all my love and Master Fluffers' love.

<3 Skapi

Hermione laughed, running her hand down her face as she considered the image of Viktor preparing to charge across continents to save her.

“What did he say that made you so amused, if I may ask?” Severus crossed behind her, taking her dishes from the table.

Debating on telling him the truth, Hermione glanced at the picture of Viktor flexing his arm and wondered if Severus would find it as amusing. He’d been joking the whole morning, so perhaps he would see this with humor, rather than a threat. Even though she knew that Viktor was serious, she also knew that he wouldn’t come charging in unless she asked him for help, and she didn’t think she needed it. “He said that you had better treat me like the gift that I am, or he is going to crush you with his massive arms.”

Severus turned to look at her, a scandalized expression on his face. “Is that meant to make me afraid?”

“Honestly, I can’t say, because he is also a rather accomplished duelist,” she mused, shaking her head at his words. She knew he would make good on coming for her if he heard nothing, so she needed to write to him today. “But I’m going to write to him and tell him that you’ve been very accommodating to me.”

“I suppose my well-being depends on your letters to him?” Severus remarked, drying his hands as he finished the dishes.

“In his mind, yes.” Hermione nodded. “He is very protective of me.”

“Very well, go on, write to your Bulgarian and let him know that I’ve not turned into a fire-breathing dragon and locked you in a tower,” Severus said in a teasing manner, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll add in that you made me breakfast,” she mentioned.

Severus crossed his arms, taking on a more imposing stance as he seemed to dare her with his eyes. “Don’t give him the wrong idea; I do have a reputation, and I don’t want him showing up for breakfast expecting I shall cook for him too.”

“I would have never thought you were funny,” Hermione chuckled, feeling some of the rest of the tension falling from her shoulders. He’d not taken the threat to heart; he’d not yelled or postured. He’d been calm and respectful all morning. This wasn’t a perfect situation, but something in her clicked into place, and Hermione understood that she was going to be okay and Severus wasn’t the enemy.

“One must have their secrets; besides, if you tell anyone, no one will believe you," Severus explained, leaning down and patting Crookshanks' head. "Hello, beasty. Get out of my kitchen.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

After that initial breakfast, Severus found that Hermione didn’t seem as timid over the following days of their required 'honeymoon.' She still walked softly around the house, as if she expected that one loud footfall would be the downfall of the Roman Empire, but she didn’t jump every time he spoke to her, and that did much to soothe his nerves. He had no intention of showing her exactly how living with her affected him. He’d never enjoyed living with others; it impinged on his privacy and often forced him to continue to carry the weight of the masks he was forced to wear from the moment he woke up until he went to bed. He’d become accustomed, after the war, to being able to come home and exhale, letting the decades-old persona of Severus Snape, war hero and war criminal, hang by the door with his coat. 

It was an exercise in control to not button that part of him tightly back up with her in the house.

Severus knew, however, that if he was to treat her within the house, as he did to everyone outside of the house, then that would only do exactly what the Ministry was hoping for, and he’d had more than his fill of being manipulated into action. His suspicions that the Ministry had paired them to pit them against each other had only cemented further upon receiving the Daily Prophet released the day after the ceremony. 

Plastered on the front page was the split second of the kiss, if one could call it that, between them. He was framed as looming over her, her eyes wide in what he knew to be fear, as their bodies were tight and rigid. Obviously, it was done in such a way to paint her in a submissive position, a box the Ministry had been trying to force her into for over a year. The headline was “Snape Becomes Granger! Granger Wedding: Hermione and Severus Granger finally relent to their senses and wed!” and the article glazed over the fact that they were under arrest until the ceremony was completed and that it had been marriage or imprisonment. It was designed for two reasons that he could see: to break any last resistance to the law in the public eye and to piss both him and Hermione off. 

It had worked well on the second front, as he'd gotten his share of cursing out in the lab before Hermione rose. There were few things he hated more than being forced to do something and then for it to be painted as if he’d done it of his own will. He’d have to go into town to replace the jar of calabar beans he’d sent careening into the wall, but it was a small price to pay if he’d managed to release the anger so that he didn’t take it out on Hermione.

Instead, he’d decided to show her that he was a wizard just as trapped by this law as she was. That regardless of what the press had printed or what had been said about him over the years, he had left behind the cruelty he’d worn like armor for years. It was a risk, one that left him feeling vulnerable in ways he wasn’t exactly pleased with, but the reward was worth it. They’d settled on acceptable terms for existing in the same space as each other, and they’d both relaxed some.

Once that was settled, he’d done everything possible to fall back into his routine, building it out where it needed to accommodate her presence. He was an early riser by nature, and that meant he had the sitting room to himself for a few hours. That was the time where he would do both his leisure reading and consult the paper. Since she also liked the crossword, Severus had duplicated it the second morning so that she had her own copy so it would not mess with his. He would then make breakfast about the time he heard her start stirring upstairs and would leave it up to her if she chose to eat with him or on her own. He would know she was coming downstairs because of her familiar acting as her herald, and meowing at Severus as he insisted on strolling into the kitchen, even if both Severus and Hermione shooed him. So far she had chosen to eat with him, a quiet affair punctuated by commentary on the paper or pleasantries.

Beyond that, he left her to her own devices for the day. Severus was not wanting for tasks to complete, especially not with his schedule pushed back three days. He’d been able to get some work caught up, a few orders that had been delayed due to his arrest were sent out, and he’d started on the backlog that had built up, but it would take nearly a week until everything was in order. 

What she did while he was in the lab, he wasn’t sure of—nor was he going to pry—but he assumed it was work for her double masteries. It had taken her less than a day to take over the desk in the sitting room he’d dragged down from the attic; a pile of essays and review work and texts had appeared that morning. Severus had to admit he was curious to know what she was working on, but he had decided that her schoolwork would constitute her private life, and thus, he greatly resisted the urge to read her in-progress essays.

In the evenings after dinner, Severus was accustomed to taking to his typewriter, perhaps with a scotch if he felt the need, and a record playing in the background. He’d been working on an improved brewing compendium; he hated the idea of it being a textbook so he’d settled on ‘compendium’. When he was teaching, it was only worked on during the summers, and it was slow going. He’d managed to complete the basic compendium the previous year, which would be a suitable substitute for current texts used for Years 1-4, but he had no desire to publish it until the Advanced and Expert compendiums were complete, as they would build on the first one. He was nearly halfway through the Advanced and expected to have it completed by the end of the year so he could then revise it the following year. It wasn’t that he had a zeal for education, as much as it was that he wanted to prevent more idiots from entering the Potioneering field without a clue of what they were doing.

It was bad enough that every time he went into town, another new ‘apothecary’ would crop up, with someone claiming ‘expertise’ while they were storing volatile ingredients directly next to each other or mislabeling them. Fortunately, there was still one decent apothecary in town, so he didn’t have to travel to Aberdeen or even import ingredients to get the quality he needed for his work. Severus dreaded the day that it closed, and that dread also fueled his need to complete the compendiums.

Hermione would join him in the evenings, sitting at her desk writing or reading, muttering to herself occasionally as she took notes. Her familiar had taken to climbing onto the seat by the window, looking out of it as she worked. If she was offended by the music or the typewriter, she said nothing, and that suited Severus. She’d not asked him what he was doing, and he had not offered to tell her, suspecting she was treating his manuscript with the same regard he treated her essays. They worked in companionable silence until he was sufficiently tired and he took himself to bed, typically before her.

This peaceful cycle continued for the rest of the week, and Severus found he was not looking forward to breaking it by going into town that morning. It was a necessary evil; there were household necessities that were needed, along with business purchases and one delivery, and Hermione had stated that she needed to purchase a few things for herself. But he knew, the moment they went into public, they’d have to play a part and deal with this unsavory business of being married to each other. 

Severus had dressed for the outing after breakfast and came downstairs to find Hermione standing by her desk, hands crossed in front of her as if she were waiting for him. He regarded her with a cursory look to see if she was ready as he walked to the closet, pulling out his overcoat. “Do you know where we must go for what you need today?”

“I do,” she offered, coming to stand on the other side of the open door. “I need to go to Flourish and Blotts to pick up  a resource for one of my assignments, Planks and Boulder to get a more comfortable chair, and the Menagerie for Kneazle food. I would also like to stop by the beauty shop for some personal items, if you don’t mind?”

“I do not mind,” Severus replied, pulling his coat on and summoning the parcel he’d packed and left on his typing desk. He secured it in the inner pocket of his coat, enchanting it to not shake with his every step. Her need to go to the bookshop aligned with his plans and the need to get this potion on its way to the buyer first thing. “I have to make a delivery next to Flourish and Blotts, so I would like to go there first, and then we can make our purchases. Along the way, I need to stop at the apothecary for some business essentials, the owl post, and then the grocer on the way back. Does that sound suitable?”

“Yes,” Hermione said distractedly. 

Glancing at her as he closed the door, he noted that she was staring at the door, rubbing her fingers with one hand firmly enough to make the skin white before switching hands. A clear sign that something was on her mind and making her uneasy. “You are fidgeting.” It was half statement, half question.

Her expression shifted, as if she had been caught, and she let her hands go, shaking them out as she drew in a deep breath through her nose. “I am nervous, and after the paper, I feel like they are going to stare. I am used to staring, but we both know what they are going to be thinking.”

He did know what they would be thinking, but he also knew it didn’t matter what they thought as long as Severus and Hermione both knew the truth. The world would pity her either way, they would vilify him either way, so there was no sense in her working herself up about it. 

“Let them pity us, Granger,” he repeated his declaration from nearly a week ago, knowing that it had given her the resolve to go forward then.

“Merlin!” she exclaimed, her fingers pushing into the hair at her temples as her eyes darted back and forth in thought. “And now your last name is my last name, and they will think I made you—”

Severus cut her off. “Anyone who matters, knows that I can no longer be made to do anything I do not want to do without a legal mandate; the rest of them don't matter.”

“This shouldn’t be this hard, it's just going to the shops,” Hermione sighed in frustration.

She was right, and he wasn’t sure if her frustration was at the prospect of going out or at herself, but if she wasn’t ready to face the world in the wake of this, he would not force her. It wouldn’t be ideal for him to do her shopping for her, but it wasn’t something he was incapable of. “I can go alone, if needs must.”

“And have them think you’ve got me locked up in a room somewhere?” she declared and quickly shook her head. “No, I am going.”

“Very well." Severus gestured toward the fireplace for her to go before him.

Hermione took several steps and then turned back to look at him. "And how do you want me to touch you when we are in town?”

Severus stopped mid-stride, in part to not walk into her and in part because it was a very good question. They had discussed the basics, but other than the hand-holding where he’d basically dragged her out of the Ministry and the kiss that he did not consider a kiss, they had not touched each other the entire week they’d been here. He thought for a moment, considering it would not do for her to jump anytime he touched her in public, as it could create speculations of abuse, and he did not wish that on either of them. Perhaps, like a proper spell movement, they needed to practice so that it conveyed exactly what they wanted. 

“Would it relax you if we practiced here?” he suggested, gesturing to the sitting room.

Hermione followed the movement with her eyes and then met his gaze, giving a quick nod. “Yes, I think it would.”

“Your arm.” He closed the distance between them, coming to stand directly at her side. He lifted his elbow and directed her with his eyes to slip her arm under his. There was some hesitation on her part, and then he felt the weight of her hand slipping over the crook of his elbow and settling against his forearm. He took in a steadying breath, in part to settle his natural aversion to being touched and to hopefully put her at ease, as he tucked his arm closer to his torso, bringing her forearm flush to him and drawing her closer. “Is that comfortable?”

“Yes,” she breathed out, even though her expression told otherwise. 

Perhaps it was for the best that they did this in private first. At this moment she looked like a hare caught in a snare, and while it was not far from the truth, it wasn’t what they wanted on the front of the morning paper. 

“From here we would simply walk,” he instructed, and he took a half step forward, not wanting to drag her with his long stride if she wasn’t prepared and didn’t step with him. 

To both their fortunes, she did step with him, and so Severus took another step, extending his stride to something more comfortable, guiding her to walk a circuit around the small sitting room. After the third circuit, he felt her shoulder relax against him, and he stopped, glancing down at her. “Better?”

“Yes,” she smiled, more relaxed than she’d been since he’d come down the stairs. “I know you must feel as silly as I do.”

He did feel a touch foolish, but it would not be the first time he had to practice his movements to make sure they were precisely what he wanted to convey, and it would not be the first time he’d done it in this sitting room. “It is certainly not something I planned on today, but if it will ease this first foray, it is needed. Shall we?”

Hermione wordlessly nodded, her fingers gripping on to his forearm as if she were bracing for the moment. In three steps, he walked them into the fireplace and out onto Diagon Alley proper. 

It was a bustling day in Diagon, which had been his hope for the outing, as they were likely to be less bothered if it was crowded. He felt the mask of disdain slip on before the green of the fires had dissipated as they continued at the same pace they had walked around the living room. Deliberate and unhurried, he held the air that he was on a mission and not to be bothered. It was natural for him to do this, to hold people at a distance with his presence, and he hoped that this would extend to Hermione, keeping them at a distance from her as well. He felt her fingers braced against his forearm, as if she were anchored to him. 

The weight of external scrutiny fell on him as they were noticed slowly by those in the street. Most seemed to have their sense and be somewhat discreet in their gawking, but a few idiots stopped and stared. Severus felt once again as he did when he was released from prison, the increased attention irritating him as they made their way to their first stop. Flourish and Blotts was directly next to the small apartments that his client lived in, and so Severus stopped in front of the door, loosening his arm from her grip. 

“Should you need me, I will be on the first floor, the second door,” Severus advised, glancing from his destination to her. 

“I won’t be long,” she told him, her brown eyes focused on the tomes in the window display.

He was certain that she was like him and that a bookstore was one of the places that time was easily lost in. “Do not rush on my behalf,” he told her, narrowing his eyes at the wizard who stopped in his tracks to look at them.

Hermione nodded, slipping her arm from his and walking into the shop. 

He watched her until she was inside, the door closed behind her, and then made his way up to his delivery destination. He knocked curtly on the door, waiting for the house-elf he expected to answer. Instead, the door was opened, and he was met with an unexpected face.

“Severus, my boy, right on time with your delivery,” Horace Slughorn beamed, opening the door to usher him. 

He crossed the threshold, looking at the older man with surprise. “Horace, I thought you were out of the country, and I was delivering to Norman to get this to you for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes, yes, leaving tomorrow morn for a delightful symposium.” The round man crossed the living space, gesturing to the nearly packed apartment and a pile of neatly arranged luggage. He turned in front of the large window that overlooked Diagon Alley below, glancing out of it as if he were looking for someone before he spoke. “And then I think it best to spend some time abroad. I’ve gathered a research team of younger concerned parties, just under the age of the mandate, and we are going to the Spanish coast, lest they get other ideas for us.”

“A wise choice,” Severus replied, knowing that the man had his own concerns about being placed in a circumstance such as the one Severus was now in. While he had never been a loud opponent of the law, Severus had known that Horace had tried in his own subtle and connected manner to stop it and had failed. It was only his age that had prevented him from being matched as Severus had been. Opening the pocket with the parcel in it, he delivered to Horace’s waiting hands. He wiggled ring finger, showing the wedding ring on his finger, as he frowned. “Resistance has appeared futile; fleeing may be your best bet.”

“You could both join me,” the older man offered, tucking the parcel into his own pocket. “I know the symposium would always have room for a guest speaker of your caliber, and Missus Granger would be a welcome addition to our little band of researchers.”

Were that it was that easy. 

Severus could easily pick up his life and continue his work, barring his in-person deliveries, but he knew that her schooling was not something she’d be willing to walk away from, especially with how she had asked him if he would allow her to attend her classes. And, at this point, he was certain the Ministry would bar their lawful exit from the country, fearing that they would flee. “Missus Granger has her studies to attend to, and as you know, we are under certain restrictions.”

“Dreadful business this is,” Horace commented with a frown, shaking his head.

“Indeed,” he replied, leaning so that he could see the entrance to the bookshop from Horace’s window. The vantage point put him more at ease, as he would see if she exited in haste or needed assistance. It also allowed him to see if someone he considered a threat entered the book store, someone who would think to go after her to get to him.

“How is she fairing?” Horace interrupted his thoughts.

Severus cleared his throat, regarding the other man for a moment. While he trusted Horace on a level slightly above everyone else, he did not trust him enough to not let him believe that he had done what had been mandated and slept with his appointed wife. He grimaced, giving Horace a soured look. “As you would expect any young woman in this position. I am doing my best to be gentle with her.”

“You always had more heart than they gave you credit for." Horace clapped his hand on Severus’ shoulder.

“My reputation says otherwise,” he snorted, shaking his head. “She is coming around to the idea, however. Especially because we have both agreed that we will not stop resisting in any manner we can.”

The older man grinned, nodding his head as he released Severus’ shoulder. “I’m sure you both won’t, my boy. Be sure to give them the hell they deserve for this mess.”

“I strive to deliver exactly what is deserved, be assured,” Severus agreed with a smug smirk. He was going to make the Ministry suffer for this, one way or another. If not for the burden on his own life, then for the mark it had made on hers.

“Well, should you get tired of fighting, the offer stands, for the both of you,” Horace assured, gesturing to his luggage. “I have a dear friend in Costa Verde who is lending me a house for as long as I have need.”

Severus was distracted by a flash of unmistakable red hair heading toward the book store. It was not a Weasley he imagined would frequent such a place, and so he suspected they were there for Hermione, not for literature. “I shall keep it in mind, but I sense that I am going to need to attend to some husbandly duties of safeguarding in a moment."

Horace peered out the window, seeing the redhead walk into the shop. “Ah yes, I see. Do pass along my ‘congratulations’ and my offer on to Hermione, and keep me abreast of the situation here.”

Making his way to the door, Severus agreed. “I shall, excuse me.”

The tension she’d been under did not completely subside as she stepped into the bookstacks, but the smell of books and ink and parchment helped. Inhaling deeply, she trailed her eyes over the spines, searching for a botany book that would help with her Advanced Herbalism essay. She’d been sure she’d read that Aloe Vera’s magical cousin, Aloe Vanus, was a viable substitute in the poultice blend she’d been writing on, but she needed the source to include it in her work. 

It took her a moment to find the book in question, but once she did, she cracked it open, searching for the passage. It would be pointless to purchase the book if the information she thought she had was incorrect.

Just as she was getting into the genus separation of the aloe species, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Oh, thank Merlin’s star-studded socks, you are still here,” Ron gasped out, as if he’d run a great distance. “How are you? Has he hurt you?”

“Hello Ron, I am fine.” Hermione folded the book over her thumb, rolling her eyes at his first line of questioning. “And no, he hasn’t hurt me; he isn’t going to."

“Are you sure?” Her friend pressed, looking over her as if he were expecting to see some evidence that she wasn’t telling the truth. “I don’t trust him.”

“Yes, I am sure." Hermione pushed Ron’s hand from her shoulder, noticing that a few of the patrons were discreetly watching them from the end of the rows. She didn’t need infidelity accusations on top of everything else. Speaking of which, she noticed that Ron wasn’t with his new wife, and she glanced around looking for her. While Millicent wasn’t exactly friendly towards her, she wasn’t going to be cruel to her, especially if she was married to one of her best friends. “Where is Millie? Are you both alright?”

Ron scoffed, dismissing her question with a roll of his eyes and a fling of his hand. “Forget her, she’s a troll, has always been a troll, and this has been a hell of a few months.” He leaned in toward her, whispering lowly. “I have a plan to get us out of this.”

Hope breached through the tension and aggravation of Ron’s disregard of Milicent. 

Had he come across something she’d missed? 

Was this meeting to get her the one thing she could take to Severus so they could defeat this law? 

Hermione inhaled sharply, leaning slightly closer as she eyed the older witches obviously gossiping about this exchange near the back of the store. “You do?”

“Yes,” he breathed out excitedly. “You see, you and I, we can go and contest our matches and claim that we were basically married during the war. Maybe they will even match Millie with Snape after.”

That hope crashed and burned in her mind as she saw his statements for what they were. It was a desperate plan by a desperate man, who was just as trapped as she was. Ron thought he would be able to convince the Ministry based on their time in the war, but they’d disregarded every other protest that had more merit than that. “Ron, that isn’t going to work; if your last minute engagement to Cho didn’t work, this isn’t.”

“But,” he held his hands up, his voice rising slightly as he was trying to convince her, “we both carried that locket right, and I gave it to you and you gave it to me, it was like exchanging rings, so we can say it was a ceremony.”

Her head already hurt with the line of thinking it would take to conclude that passing a horcrux between the three of them would constitute a marriage ceremony. At that rate, it would have meant she was just as married to Harry, as would Ron. “It’s not going to work, a horcrux is not a means to a marriage. And we would be married to Harry too; that won’t count as a ceremony, and it won’t be a good reason for them to break our matches. And even if it were, would you want a marriage basically overseen by a part of Voldemort’s soul?”

Ron’s face fell as she made the statement, as if he hadn’t considered that. He rubbed his face and then his eyes brightened with an idea as he spoke again. “Okay, but what about a common-law marriage? We lived together in the tent, we shared, well, everything. See?”

Hermione did see, but not what he wanted her to. She could see how dark the circles were under his eyes, she could see the red stubble on his chin, she could see the panic and worry and desperate need to escape in his eyes. She saw so much of what she felt on the inside clearly on one of her best friends' faces. Her chest ached for him, but she knew that without a solid footing or something substantial, any future attempts by her to thwart the law would be cast down and potentially put her and Severus under more scrutiny. She didn’t want to risk a chance at resistance that might not make a difference at all. 

“I understand how trapped you feel right now, I do." Hermione lowered her voice softly, touching his arm to try to convey to him that she understood. “But I’m not going to go to the Ministry with a hairbrained idea when my already thought-out ones failed. And my match with Severus isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. He’s not the same man.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Ron demanded incredulously, his voice raising slightly, “You just said ‘isn’t bad’ and ‘Severus’ in the same sentence. Hell, you just said ‘Severus’ instead of ‘Snape.’”

Letting out a sigh, she drew her hand back, shaking her head at the prejudice that Ron still held. Prejudice that everyone else expected that she had as well. “I said Severus, and not Snape, because he isn’t Snape anymore. He’s Severus Granger now.”

A mocking smile painted itself over Ron’s face as she elbowed her with a chuckle. “Yeah, I heard you made him take your name so you didn’t have to take his. Wicked clever that.”

“I didn’t,” she confessed. “He did it on his own. He chose to take my name.”

“Yeah right Hermione, we both know that's not how that happened.” Ron disregarded her words with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to tell me what you threatened him with.” His face grew serious again as he leaned in, almost cornering her against the bookcase. "But you still need to get away from him, if he hasn’t hurt you yet, he’s going to! He’s well—him.”

“I’m going to walk away now,” she sighed, knowing this conversation was going to go nowhere. She turned from him to pay for the book and then to find Severus to continue their shopping. Ron had cemented his ideas about Severus a long time ago, and she wasn’t in the mood to hear him disparage the man who had been doing his level best to make this as comfortable a horror story as possible. 

“No, Hermione." Ron snatched her arm, yanking her back and eliciting a squeak of surprise from her. “I’m not going to give up on you; I can’t leave you with him. Merlin knows what he’s doing to you in that house.” 

Her sound of distress had drawn more attention, and she felt her anxiety building. She fixed him with a serious glare, pulling against his grip. “Ron, let go of me, you are making people stare,” she ordered him with her voice lowered to draw less attention. 

“I don’t care, I won’t just stand by while you are trapped with him,” Ron yelled, as if he were trying to prove his point. 

Just as Hermione was about to speak, another voice spoke up from behind her. 

“If you are interested in keeping your hands, Mister Weasley, I suggest you remove them from my wife." Severus’ low threat rolled past her. 

Hermione turned to see Severus coming to stand behind her, his eyes narrowed in deadly daring at Ron. This had all the potential of going horribly, and Hermione was suddenly trying to figure out the best way to diffuse this.

“She’s only your wife on paper, mate; don’t act like she wants to be with you. You probably paid someone off to get matched with her,” Ron shouted, still holding on to her arm.

“Ronald Weasley!” She turned to him with stunned shock on her face, all thoughts of diffusing this gone.

He rolled his eyes at her, gesturing to Severus with his other hand. “Don’t play dumb Hermione, he probably had the hots for you when we were kids and saw his chance.”

His words hitting her ears was like the lid of a dangerous brew being lifted too quickly, air mixing with gases to make an explosion. Before she knew what she was doing, before she fully processed her actions, Hermione drew her free fist back and then met his nose with her knuckles as hard as she could. The sound of fist against flesh echoed in the now muted bookstore.

Ron let her go, grabbing his face as he careened backwards into the bookcase and then on to the floor, several tomes falling on top of his collapsed form.

Hermione would have been upset with herself if she had been thinking, but all she could hear was what he said and feel the churning of rage in her chest. She stood over him, shaking with the fury coursing through her veins.

“If you ever say something so disgusting about him ever again, I will never speak to you again! Do you understand me?” She didn’t know if she was speaking or screaming, but she knew that the sound bounced back to her, and she didn’t recognize her own voice for how angry she was. 

Blood trickled down his lips under his fingers over his face.

She wanted to hit him again, but she wouldn't, so instead she turned, moving to step around Severus.

“Mione, wait!” Ron called to her, but she kept walking.

“I would stay down Mister Weasley, before I put you back on the ground myself." Severus’ low, growling warning made her pause. The whole shop was watching now, and as angry as she was, she understood that they needed to see that she and Severus were together, unified on some front.

She turned then, extending her hand toward him expectantly. “Let’s go, Severus.”

He looked at her, and then her hand, before he stepped away from the sprawling mess that was Ron and took her hand. 

The rest of their shopping in Diagon was a furious blur; Hermione could not stop hearing Ron’s words rattling around in her head. She could see them in every person who stared at them, it was an inescapable phantom that made her want to scream. All she wanted to do was get out of the public eye, where she could kick her feet and yell and curse every brain cell that obviously left Ron in that moment. She’d have nearly forgotten Kneazle food if it had not been for Severus’ gentle reminder. 

When they had arrived back at the house, Hermione’s head was pounding from the tension, her hands hurt from clenching them so much, and also from punching Ron so hard she was sure he saw stars. She paced the sitting room as Severus put away groceries, mind playing over the situation over and over again. 

How could Ron be so stupid?

How could he think that Severus wanted this?

Severus had been fighting this law as much as she had.

More than Ron, that was for sure, who pouted when he couldn’t marry Cho and then just went along with the arrangement like a good little boy.

He hadn’t been arrested and told to marry or else they would send him to Azkaban until he agreed.

Ron had no idea what he was talking about.

Hermione let out a snarl, clenching her fists and turning around, only to find Severus standing in her way, black eyes searching her face. “Are you alright?”

She couldn’t imagine what he had to think about her, about what Ron had said.

“I am so sorry he said such a foul thing about you,” she sputtered around the apology, still sounding like she was yelling more than she was speaking.

“Not what I asked,” Severus countered, lifting an eyebrow that told her he didn’t want to have to repeat the question.

He’d asked her if she was alright, and she was the farthest thing from it. The world had gone mad; she’d been married against her will with the expectation that she would breed like a domesticated beast, and her friend had the sheer lack of sense to accuse the man she was married to of being a pervert who had lusted after her when she was a child, despite the fact that there was absolutely zero evidence to support that. If anything, she would have more readily agreed if it had been said that he hated her from the start and wanted to torture her with a marriage to him. Even then Severus had proven to be uninterested in making this a terrible time for both of them.

“No, I am not alright,” Hermione confessed angrily, her fists at her side. "My best friend just accused you of something horrid, something unspeakably vile. And if he is thinking it, then others are thinking it, and it makes me so… so… so angry.” She stomped her foot, feeling the well of rage in her open again at the idea of how many people were thinking it and not saying it. “I’m so ANGRY!” she shouted through clenched teeth.

“Go on,” Severus said calmly, as if her emotions had no effect on him. “Who are you angry at?”

The list was as long as there were days at this point. She drew in a shaking breath, feeling hot tears start at the corners of her eyes. “I am angry at the Prophet, and the Ministry, and every single person who agrees with this law, and, and, and the world! And RON, for being an idiot!” 

He listened, expressionless as she rallied against the world.

“And me?” he asked quietly. "Are you angry at me?”

“No!” she yelled, shaking her head even though it made it feel like her brain was sloshing back and forth in her skull. “I am not angry with you because you actually fought! You fought it! You weren’t a coward, like Ron, who just went with what they decreed! You stood up and said no and resisted until they backed us in a corner like animals and gave us no other choice!” She sucked in a breath, feeling as if she didn’t have enough air in her lungs as she protested his assumption that she would have reason to be this furious with him. “And you’ve been so kind, even though this cannot be easy for you to have a stranger in your house. And then he goes and he says, he says THAT.” Her fist clenched, and she wished he was there so she could hit him again and make him apologize for what he’d said. “I want to punch him again!” she confessed, tears of rage streaming down her cheeks, her hands shaking as she turned and paced back and forth in short angry steps with violent turns. “I want to punch him so hard that every single person who has even considered that YOU WANTED THIS feels it and it knocks them on their asses. I want to punch him so hard that the Minister comes to his senses and abolishes this law!”

Having said it out loud, after holding it in for so many days, it felt like her lungs were quickly deflated after being forced to hold in more air than she was able. Relief and tiredness that went to the marrow of her bones draped over her, making her sort of slump under the weight of it as she stood in the sitting room, panting.

“I fear if you punched him that hard, you would kill your friend," Severus drawled sensibly, shaking his head. "And as much as Mister Weasley is a nuisance and idiot, I’m sure you don’t want that.”

He was right, she didn’t want to kill Ron. 

Ron was just desperate, and his words had been the final straw on her resolve. Hermione hadn’t even realized how angry she was until this moment, now that it was laid bare and her body ached from having had to carry it.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t satisfying to punch him, to make it clear that she would not accept any accusations in that manner against Severus. “I know, but you’ve no idea how good it felt for just a second.” 

“I can imagine,” he chuckled, nodding knowingly, “as I have desired to punch a few Weasleys in my lifetime.”

“I’m sure you have,” Hermione agreed, remembering that he had to teach all seven of the Weasley children. She felt weak from the emotional outburst, her eyes burned, and her headache had only grown. She swayed as she stood there, trying to process it all.

"Perhaps you should sit before you fall,” Severus suggested, gesturing to the new sofa she’d bought at the furniture store in a rush. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d moved furniture and put it in place while she was fuming.

Hermione walked over to him, feeling the tinge of guilt that she’d just yelled at him, and he’d done nothing wrong. “I’m sorry I just started yelling, and you’d only asked if I was alright.”

“Don’t be, it seems like it was good for you,” Severus acknowledged. “I am not bothered by it. I do, however, believe you need to rest after such an outing. How is your hand?”

“It is sore, but I don’t think I broke anything,” Hermione responded, glancing over her red and slightly swollen knuckles.

“Oh, you assuredly broke his nose,” Severus declared, stepping into the kitchen.

“I meant in my hand,” Hermione called after him.

“I am aware.” Severus returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, a headache potion, and a muggle ice pack. “I wanted to be sure that you knew it was an impressive punch.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

The shock that Severus felt in seeing Hermione nail her former paramour in the nose, seemed to ripple through the wizarding world as well. Somehow, a photo had been taken in the bookshop from an angle to the side of them, clearly showing her hitting Weasley and him collapsing out of sight behind the bookcase. While the headline the following morning was dull, ‘Granger launches assault on Weasley in Bookshop’ the article seemed to hint at Hermione being corrupted by Severus. It wasn’t said in plain English, but in the subtext he’d become very keen on picking up.

‘Missus Granger has never been so violent in public. What has changed her?’

‘Mister Granger stood by, impassive, as his wife lashed out, though those present did say they thought they saw him smirk.’

‘Weasley had been heard announcing he was going to save Hermione from her husband. Why, this reporter is unsure.’

They were damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t, it seemed. Either they were being seditionists for avoiding the marriage and protesting it to the point of being arrested, or he was turning her into a puppet now that they had relented to the will of the law. 

Severus rolled his eyes, folding the paper over to the back, summoning a quill to his hand so that he could start the puzzle. He’d wasted enough time on that nonsense. He sipped from his coffee cup as he began to work through the clues.

It was not long after that Hermione came shuffling downstairs. Crookshanks greeted him with a mrow before weaving around his ankles at the table. He wasn’t entirely fond of the cat, but it seemed the furball had become fond of him. He saw the top of her head move into view as she bent over to feed her house beast. Severus noticed her hair had seemed to become less messy over time, as on the first morning it looked like the mane of a lion that had discovered electricity, and now it was more of a poof of hair around her head. He was curious as to what had caused the change, but not enough to let her know he’d noticed the difference. It wouldn’t do for her to get the impression he had opinions about her hair.

Hermione poured herself a cup of coffee and gave him a sleepy smile as she grabbed the plate of breakfast he’d made for her. “Morning.” she yawned.

“Good morning," Severus responded, sliding her copy of the crossword to her side of the table so that she could start it at her leisure. He gestured to the envelope that was also waiting for her. “You’ve a letter.”

Setting her plate down across from him, she reached for the letter, still drinking her coffee as she stood next to the table.

As she read it, Severus glanced at her. She was much more relaxed now that she had been when she first arrived, and he noted that that included her clothing. Her oversized shirt was obviously old, the neck stretched out so that it hung off of her, exposing her shoulder and the soft dip of her clavicle. She was in shorts that he could barely see from the length of the shirt, revealing her longer-than-he-expected legs, with obvious tan lines above her knees. It occurred to him that he was seeing parts of her that did not see the sun, the paler skin not quite as pale as his own but a sharp contrast to the warm bronze of her lower legs. 

“It’s from Neville, he wants to meet up to go over our assignments,” she interrupted his thoughts.

He cleared his throat as he realized he’d been inadvertently checking her out, and quickly glanced at her face. Her eyes were still focused on the letter. Fortunately, his idle observation had gone unnoticed, even though his face felt hot with a hint of embarrassment that he hoped was not detectable.

“Mister Longbottom is one of your peers?” he asked, reaching for his coffee cup.

“Yes, he’s in the Herbology Mastery program with me; we have several classes together,” she replied, flipping to the second page of the letter. Severus could see page numbers and questions on the bottom of the first page, so it seemed that he had elected to pass on her homework to her. 

From what Severus could remember of Longbottom’s school years that wasn’t explosions and trying to impress upon him to be more attentive, he got glowing praise from Pomona. “It suits him, he was a poor hand in the lab, but Pomona claimed he had a green thumb.”

“Will it be an issue if we meet up?” Hermione asked him, moving from standing next to the table and sinking into her seat, her brown eyes searching his.

“You may meet with whomever you wish, I would prefer it not be here, however—” Severus furrowed his brow at her, leaning back in his chair. “Longbottom is not someone I wish to have anywhere near my lab. I am afraid that he will spoil a potion by mere proximity.”

Her eyeroll told him that she didn’t agree. “He’s not that bad at potions any longer.”

“As much as I respect your vote of confidence in Mister Longbottom, my request stands firm,” Severus stated, setting his coffee cup down. “Please do not have him here.”

“I wasn’t saying I would bring him here,” Hermione explained, picking up her egg sandwich. “I was saying he doesn’t smoke out the classroom anymore.”

“Good for him,” he offered, turning back to the crossword. “I’m sure his current professor appreciates it.”

As she began to eat her breakfast, the companionable silence that he had started to associate with the beginning of the day fell over them. It was only the sounds of their breathing, quills on newsprint, and the occasional thump of a coffee cup on the table. It was perhaps the closest he’d come to peace while living with another person. Hermione’s presence didn’t pervade his thoughts and set him on edge, and while he thought he should be a bit more concerned at the ease achieved in a short time, it was better than the alternative of being constantly on guard.

Severus took it in as he continued through the clues, pausing to note the more challenging ones as he did. 

“How do you feel?” Hermione asked him unexpectedly, breaking the silence.

Severus did not look up from the word he was writing in the squares, but he did lift his eyebrow in questioning as he responded. “Fine, why do you ask?”

“I thought I heard you across the hall last night cry out as if you were in pain,” she explained with a worried tone.

His hand froze above the paper as he glanced up at her. He’d not expected that the sounds from his room would have carried to hers. “My apologies if I disturbed your sleep. I shall put up some sound dampening charms before I retire this evening.”

The lines by her eyes deepened, worry painting over her features. “You don’t have to answer, but were you in pain?”

He debated on if he wanted to answer her. If he wanted to reveal to her something that he’d kept concealed for years. If he did, then she would have an answer and not be able to jump to any other conclusions, but also, she would know that he still suffered when he’d worked rather hard to convince the world that he’d made a full recovery from the war.

It was her expression that convinced him to tell her, because he didn’t see pity, only concern. 

“I, at times, still have…” he paused, searching for the right words as he set the quill down on the crossword. He crossed his arms in front of him atop the table. “...nightmares, which are often accompanied by phantom pains. I had one last night, but I was not aware that I was loud enough to wake you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized. 

“Don’t be, I would rather you know than assume something else,” Severus confessed, standing to top up his coffee cup. “They have increased as of late; the heightened stress of our situation is likely the source. I will endeavor to not wake you with them in the future.”

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked, turning in her chair to look at him.

Severus shook his head as he poured the steaming brew in it. “No, but the concern is appreciated.”

She made a tutting noise, and he heard the crossword copy crinkle. “Can you help me?”

“With what?” he asked, glancing to see that she was still sitting sidelong in the chair, her legs crossed one over the other as she leaned on the kitchen table with her elbow. The shirt hung lower on her shoulder, exposing part of the expanse of skin just under her clavicle, which was coated with a light sprinkling of freckles and another tan line. She had the end of the quill against the corner of her mouth, running the feather along the line of her lips as she spoke. “17 across, Absolve from Blame: it’s too long to be 'pardoned' and too short for 'absolution.' Do you know what it is?”

“Exonerate,” he told her, watching the feather with a growing sense of being flustered. 

“Thanks,” she chimed happily, beaming at the crossword as she filled in the letters.

Shaking his head as he broke his eyes away from the sight, drawing in a deep breath as he plucked his cup of coffee up from the counter. “I will be in my lab, I have an order I need to check on.”

Something was going on, something was stirring in him, and he was not entirely sure why, but he felt the need to get some distance from her to figure it out. As he was stepping out of the kitchen and around the feeding Kneazle, he heard her call out to him.

“I will likely be gone when you get done. I go back to classes today, and I am going to leave early to meet Neville.”

“Have a good day then," Severus responded, not stopping in his measured exodus, his mind mulling this new interest in where her tan lines were.

“You too,” he heard her say as he stepped through the bookcase door and down to his lab. 

“Hey, you made it,” Neville called out to her from the desk he had saved for the two of them in the university library. 

Hermione let her messenger bag slump on to the table as she wrapped her arms around him in a giant hug. “Hey, how are you?”

“Good good,” he replied, squeezing her as if she’d just come back from a year-long trip and not a week-long one. “I should be asking how are you?”

Sinking into the chair next to him, she shook her head with a heavy sigh. “Stressed that I haven’t been in classes for a week and that I may not have made up all my assignments yet.”

“I’m sure they will let you know if you didn’t,” he consoled her, sitting down next to her. “You only missed one exam, and you can make it up in Advanced Herbalism. We didn’t have a lot in Magihorticulture this week other than tending to our transplants. I kept yours watered and fertilized.” 

Relief washed over her, and she let her shoulders drop as she smiled at him. She had not even considered that her transplant of a Madragonia would have died in the week she was gone. The poor thing had just started growing its little wings; she would have hated to come back to it dead.

“Thank you so much, I would hate to have to start over so late in the growing season. And it was just starting to get cute. I can’t wait to see how much it has grown,” she gushed happily. There was a sense of normalcy that fell over her, sitting in the library with Neville, talking about their class project as if that were the biggest worry. It almost made her forget about the upheaval of the last week, of the distinct shift in her normal.

“You wouldn’t be the only one if it had died; there were at least two others whose transplants died of shock. It was horrible." Neville winced with a frown. “We had a burial ceremony for them, and Shauna sobbed. Professor Quinos is letting them start over without docking their grade if they aren’t fully mature by the end of the term.”

“Poor things.” Hermione felt for her classmates, they had been growing the miniature dragon vines from seed for months now. “How have things been outside of class? Are you alright?”

Neville stared at her for a moment, his mouth moving as if he were about to say something, and then he paused, looking at his notes for a moment. “You know, I was talking to Hannah.”

“How is she?” Hermione asked with a bright smile. Hannah and Neville had been dating since their first semester at the university. He’d been too afraid to ask her, but Hermione had convinced him to give it a shot. She’d never seen him happier, and Hannah was a different girl from the sad one she’d seen her become after the war. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to see them ripped apart either, as they had been matched to each other under the law and had been planning a wedding for the fall. “Are you two excited for the wedding?”

“Um, about that,” he muttered nervously, toying with his quill and not looking her in the eye.

Hermione’s heart dropped. She didn’t think she could bear any bad news, but at the same time, she had to know if something had gone amiss. “Has something happened?”

There seemed to be a battle in Neville’s eyes, flicking back and forth as if he were thinking quickly. His hand gripped his quill, and he met her gaze, sharp lines of resolve indenting his forehead. “I want to save you from him!” he whispered firmly, eyes moving around to see if anyone in the quiet library had heard him. “I am willing to break the law. I won’t marry Hannah, and you and I, we can run off out of the country. I will protect you.”

“Neville,” she started softly, feeling both touched and terrified for what would happen to them if he did this.

“Please, just listen to me," he pleaded, leaning closer to her as he continued to whisper. “We talked about it, and she understands that we can’t leave you to him. The plan is that she will stay here and take care of Nan while I get you someplace safe, maybe to Bulgaria and Viktor; his mom loves you, she would let you stay. We don’t want to leave you to Snape.” Something flashed behind Neville's eyes, a fear and a memory that made his gaze distant momentarily before he continued. “He’s a monster, and I will protect you from him.”

Hermione put her hand on Neville’s arm, imploring him to listen to her. “He’s not though. He’s not a monster, Neville.”

It was as if her words went through one ear and out the other as he shook his head, worry creasing his eyes. “Maybe he is being okay now to get you to lower your defenses. He’s going to hurt you, and I care too much about you to let that happen.”

“I am telling you that is not the case,” she urged, squeezing his arm. “It is not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“But still bad?” He pressed, his hand falling over her hand.

She shook her head, trying to find a way to get Neville to understand that his fears had no basis in this situation. “No, he’s been nothing like the man we knew before.”

“And he’s not been—he's not been cruel to you?” her friend stuttered, as if he were trying to believe her but could not shake the phantoms of the past.

“No, he’s been very kind,” Hermione confessed earnestly. Severus had been a cold and cruel teacher, especially to Neville, and so she understood, but she had also spent time with him this week and had seen no traces of it. “He’s done everything to make this as easy for the both of us as possible. He has been kind and considerate. I am not afraid of him.”

“You’re sure?” he stressed, holding firmly to her hand as if he were afraid she would be ripped away. “Because you know, you can tell me, and it would be okay. I am a safe person, and I will keep you safe if he’s hurting you in that house.”

Her heart ached for both the fierce protectiveness that Neville was showing and how afraid he must have been while she was gone. She took in a deep breath and leveled him with an expression she hoped would convince him to believe what she was about to say. “Neville, please believe me when I say that Severus is being kind and accommodating and that he’s just as put out by this whole ordeal as I am. No torture, no hurting me, nothing wrong. We’ve not even fought; well, I yelled at him, but it was about Ron and not because of his actions.”

“I saw you punched him in the paper." Neville’s expression only grew more worried, as if he didn’t think she would have punched him under normal circumstances. As if he had not watched her whack him with more textbooks than was healthy in the whole time they’d known each other. 

She didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for hitting Ron, and if he were there in front of her, saying the same things, she would have hit him again just as hard. “That is because he said something so vile that I cannot even bear to voice the words aloud.”

“I heard what he said from the grapevine,” he added, his lip rising in disgust amid the worry.

She gestured toward him with her free hand, palm up to seek his agreement. “It’s disgusting, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know Hermione,” he breathed out, his expression telling her that he might not have agreed with her.

Her expression went hard as she scrutinized him, narrowing her eyes as she angrily whispered. “Don’t tell me you believe such nonsense too.” 

“No, I don’t, not fully,” he clarified, pushing his hair away from his face. "But also, I have nightmares about what he could have planned for you, what potions he would make you take, how he would threaten you, and turn you into something you aren’t, and how he might have paid someone off for the chance to torture you.”

She felt the flicker of rage unfurling in her chest, and she grit her teeth, sucking in a deep breath. As much as she wanted to yell at Neville, she didn't; she forced herself to be calmer than she felt, but some of the intensity slipped into her voice. “That Severus doesn’t exist anymore!”

“But he did, Hermione!” Neville half begged, half spat as if he were just as upset as she was, but for the opposite reason. “He did exist, and you are living with that same man!”

Hermione could tell by Neville’s tone that this was not the same desperation that Ron had when trying to get her out of this marriage; it was genuine fear for her safety. He wasn’t acting out of some self-serving motive or a desire to use her as some shield from his own doom. Her friend was scared out of his mind about what she could be suffering and was willing to sacrifice his own happiness to save her. She adored him for it, but she couldn’t let him throw everything away and put him and Hannah in the same position as she and Severus. Especially when she wasn’t in danger, there was no reason for him to charge in like a white knight and save the day.

“I swear to you Neville,” she began, shaking his arm under her hand to get him to hear her. “If I thought for a moment that I was in danger, I would tell you.” She thought about Viktor and how Neville was right that his mother would hide her in her home in a heartbeat. “I would write to Viktor and have him come get me, and we’d fight the law from Bulgaria. But Severus and I have made a deal, and we are going to fight this law from here.” She squeezed his arm again, holding his gaze and praying that his trust in her was greater than his fear of the man she’d been married to. “Trust me when I say he's not my enemy, he’s not my captor, he’s not my torturer; he’s just as trapped as I am, and we are going to find a way out of this together."

Something in his face changed, softened to concern from furious worry. “So, he doesn’t want to be married to you?”

Hermione truly believed that there was no reason that Severus would have chosen this down to her core. He no more wanted to be married to her than she wanted to be married to him. “We didn’t have a choice, Neville; you saw them drag me out of class at wand point. It was either be sent off to Azkaban in the same cell together or be in his house together, married. We choose the easier of two bad options.”

“You promise you’ll tell me if he changes, if he starts to hurt you?” Neville squeezed her hand, searching her face.

“I will tell you, I promise,” she swore. "Now, will you trust me to know if I’m in danger as I have for years before this?"

“Yeah, I will." He relaxed his grip on her hand, a sheepish expression on his face. “I trust you, even if I don’t trust him.”

It was the best outcome she suspected she was going to get out of him. She would never expect him to fully accept any of the apologies that Severus had given the world and his students over what had to be done to prevent more damage than what had occurred. He’d been more deeply wounded and suffered more than most at the hands of Severus. But his trust in her, his acceptance that she would reach out if she needed him, was enough.

“And will you throw out this rubbish idea of not marrying Hannah, who you have loved for at least three years, if not longer?” she demanded, hoping he would see how absurd the idea was. “You are lucky; you got matched to the woman you love. Don't put her through what I just had to go through. Don’t make them arrest her.”

“I won’t.” An expression of understanding crossed his vision, as if it hadn’t fully occurred to him that Hannah would have been nabbed as she had been. He nodded then, the worry back on his face, but not directed at her. “I’ll tell Hannah that we talked, that you are good, and that you feel safe with him.”

“Thank you." Hermione relaxed, pulling out her assignments now that he had released his hold on her. She glanced over the first class's worth of work, frowning because she still had two more assignments to complete. 

Neville seemed to relax at her side, not looking at his assignments but glancing off as if he were still lost in thought. 

“He actually has a great sense of humor,” Hermione offered, hoping that would convince him to consider that Severus wasn’t a threat.

“You don’t have to lie to make him a better person in my eyes,” Neville warned, his expression of disbelief unmistakable.

“I’m not lying,” she refuted, smiling as she thought about him poking fun at the comics. "He's funny.”

"Mhm, okay, Hermione,” Neville snickered, shaking his head. 

Hermione frowned; maybe Severus was right, and no one would believe her that he was a different man behind closed doors. And nothing proved that more than walking through the corridors of the lecture halls. Her hopes that she would be treated just like any of the other young women who had been forced to get married and come back to her studies were immediately smashed when she walked through the doors. It was like being in grade school again, the glances, the pretending to not look at her but talking about her, and the gossiping. Every corridor she passed, between each of her morning classes, she heard the mocking words as she passed by.

“Shhh, there she is…"

“Do you think he makes her call him 'sir'?"

“She probably wrote him a 10,000-word essay on how to fuck her.”

“He took her name; what a power move. She has to have him by the short and curlies for him to do that.”

“I wonder if she is dressed like that to hide the marks.”

“Did you see the paper? He didn’t even know how to kiss!”

“She looked so scared; I hope she is okay.”

“I bet he gags her and ties her up so she doesn’t raise her hand and ask questions during.”

It was all said as if she couldn’t hear them, sometimes with an echo of laughter followed by a shushing from one of the involved parties as she looked their way. When she would stare at them, accusations in her eyes, they would all look away, unwilling to meet her gaze.

Hermione knew that she shouldn’t let the words hurt her, that she should just let them be ignorant and cruel and move onward as if she were unaffected. But after the first hour of lessons and the laughter that followed her out of the classroom, it was impossible for her to just push it aside. It was as if she’d been reduced to the basest butt of the jokes, the easy laugh for everyone to unite with. Even when they had rallied against the same law that put her in this position, even those who had worried with her. It seemed that a week away had turned her from someone to consider formidable to a punchline.

“Married to the Dungeon Bat? Couldn't be me.”

“I heard he makes her call him professor.”

“I bet she’s into that roleplay, having detention with him.”

“I wonder how long before she’s waddling around with a greasy baby git in her.”

In a place where she once felt confident and on top of the world, she suddenly felt small and alone. Her eyes drifted to the floor, her book to her chest as she tried to walk as quickly as possible and think of anything but what was being said.

Sitting down in her Advanced Trigonomagicks, she let out a breath, hoping she could make it through the last class of the day without one more snide comment in her direction.

That hope was quickly dashed when one of her older classmates, Thomas Walker, a show-off who thrived on being the class clown, sat down directly next to her, draping his arm over the back of her chair. She ignored him, reading the board, and hoped that her silence would tell him she was in a mood. Unfortunately, he was as bad at reading hints as he was studying for this class.

“Hey Granger! How is Mister Granger? Did you have fun on your honeymoon?” he chuckled, and she caught him looking back at the rest of the class behind her as snickers grew louder.

“Sod off,” she warned, turning to stare at him with the same intensity that had silenced the hall's mockery.

He seemed unaffected, grinning as if he’d won a prize as he loudly questioned her for the whole class to hear. “Did he make you recite the ingredients to a potion while he bred you?"

Hermione stood up, her books clattering to the floor as she balled her fist, staring down at the imbecile. “You vulgar insipid cu—”

“That is quite enough!” The sharp tone of her professor echoed through the room as she entered from the door in the back of the auditorium, slamming her gradebook against her desk. “And if you don’t stop with your commentary on her life, Mister Walker, you will be removed from my classroom with a T for this term. Do I make myself clear?”

"Yes, Professor Payne,” he stumbled over his words, suddenly moving from his casual pose in the chair next to her toward his group of friends.

Sinking in her chair, her face hot with anger and shame, she swallowed against the urge to cry as she focused on the older woman.

Her professor met her gaze, and for a moment, Hermione thought she saw a wave of sympathy on the otherwise stern woman’s face. “Missus Granger, if you receive any other harassment in regard to your circumstances, please inform me. The person responsible will be removed from my classroom with the same punishment as I offered Mister Walker.”

“Yes, Professor Payne,” she choked out, trying to conceal how upset she really was. 

With a knowing nod in her direction, the professor turned to the class, disdain on her face. “I hope you’ve all spent as much time speculating on other people’s lives as you have your textbook, as we are about to have a pop quiz. Get out your parchment and quills and explain to me how the answer to this formula is wrong." She clacked her pointer stick against the chalkboard, an equation appearing on the board in her wavy, wide script.

It was the first class she had been able to focus in all day, the snickering and sniggering effectively silenced by the threat that they knew that the professor would make good on. She completed the pop quiz and wrote a quick note of thanks on a piece of parchment that she tucked on top of her makeup work. 

Professor Ella Payne reminded her of Madam Pince and Professor McGonagall in one human; her expression was typically sour unless you had her in a discussion that interested her. She was intelligent, powerful, and the confident kind of woman Hermione hoped she’d grow into. She took no quarter and tolerated nothing outside of the contents of her syllabus. Hermione carried her quiz and her makeup work to her desk, setting the quiz down where they’d been instructed to place it when they were done, and then held out her makeup work.

Her professor glanced at her over her glasses, regarding her for a moment before extending her long-fingered hand for the stack of parchment. Her sky-blue eyes raked over the hasty ‘thank you’ and then met Hermione’s gaze again. For a brief second Hermione felt as if she were being examined and answers were wordlessly sought before the feeling passed and her professor spoke. “I expect the rest of your work by the end of the week.”

“I will have it done,” Hermione promised. 

“You are dismissed.”

With a quick summoning spell, Hermione grasped her belongings and made a hasty exodus. She walked through the empty halls toward the floos as quickly as possible, not wanting to encounter another person whispering about her. Stepping through the fire, she was relieved to find the living room empty. It meant that Severus was either working in his lab and would not be able to hear her or was gone out.

Slamming her books down her desk with more force than necessary, she dropped her bag on the floor. Taking in a deep breath, letting the frustration and anger and sadness that had compounded over the whole day come to the surface, from Neville’s well-meaning but misplaced fear for her, to the cruel idiots who acted like immature school children, to Thomas FUCKING Walker, who had more balls than brains and even fewer manners. With all of that bubbling to the surface, she exhaled a frustrated scream, clenching her fist as she poured it all out of her. She let the scream flow out until she didn’t have any more air in her lungs, tears she had refused to shed during the day running down her face.

She heard a chair at the dining room table move, and Severus’ head came into view as he leaned into the doorway to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

“DAMN IT!” she sputtered, covering her tear-covered face and turning away from him. “I thought you weren’t home or were downstairs.”

“I take it your first day back was not pleasant,” he asked, his tone edged with concern.

A mirthless guffaw of laughter left her as she tried to wipe away the tears and stop the snot that had started running down her face. She didn’t want him to see this; she couldn’t bear one more person casting judgment on her, especially not him. She knew she shouldn’t have let it get to her, and she knew he would say so.

Clearing her throat, still turned away from him, she tried to conceal her tears from her voice. “If it would not have gotten me expelled, I would have cursed at least six people, if not more.”

The sound of the chair sliding across the floor told her that he had stood, and she closed her eyes, trying to will herself to calm down as she heard him approach.

“Were you attacked or harmed?” The concern was more present now.

“No.” She shook her head, dragging her knuckle against her closed eye, hoping to press the liquid back into her tear ducts. “Just cruel idiots and gossips who don’t have the presence of mind to speak quietly, or not at all.”

A sigh left him, and she could tell he was not that far from her. There was a soft tone of commiseration in his voice when he spoke again. “Would you like to tell me about it, or would you like to continue to vent in private? I can go to my lab.”

His calm offer that reeked of compassion opened the floodgates, and new tears started at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to burden him, she didn’t want him to think she was a thin-skinned little girl who couldn’t take a few careless remarks, but she also wanted someone to talk to who didn’t just jump to the conclusion that Severus was the source of her upset. Yet, she thought, if anyone understood why she was so upset, it would be him.

“You wouldn’t believe the things they had the audacity to say,” she said, knowing she sounded pitiful and angry all at once. She wiped her eyes as she turned to look at him. “Did their mothers never teach them manners?”

“Their mothers may have, but that doesn’t mean the lesson stuck,” Severus replied, moving into place on the sofa. “I am sure I would believe what you heard.”

“It was vile and cruel," Hermione frowned, shaking her head. “And then there’s Neville, he is terrified of what you are ‘doing to me in this house,'" she air-quoted with her hands.

It was his turn to frown as he crossed one leg over the other, glancing up at her. “Ah, I had thought that might be the case. Did your meeting with him go sour as well?”

“Only at first,” she explained, standing in front of him. “At least he knows me well enough to believe me when I say you’ve not hurt me and I don’t feel like I am in danger. But my classmates. All the vulgar and rude things they were saying about us being married.”

His head tilted to the side as he pondered something. “And these are also matched students?”

All of her peers had been in the age range to be matched except for a handful of senior wizards who were there for recertification courses in their fields. They were all faced with the same hard choice as she was, but most were treating it as if it were nothing, as if the fact that they were being forced to breed like mooncalves was not something to rally against. 

“Most of them were matched to each other, or someone their own age. They are treating it as more intense assigned dating. They seem to see it as just two years stuck together and at least one kid, and then they can move on to someone else. Marriage has become a mockery to them. A few of the girls in my class had to drop out because of their matches not approving of their education, not allowing them to attend, or them choosing to not go on." Hermione scoffed, running her hand down her face to move the crust from her tears away. “It's as if because I am married to you, it is somehow worse to them than their own situations, so I’m free game.” 

“I am sorry that my reputation is sullying yours,” he apologized with a somber expression.

She didn’t think this was his fault at all, and so she wasn’t willing to accept his apology. He hadn’t chosen this, regardless of what the gossips had to say about it. “You aren’t the one spouting nonsense.”

He gave her the look that said ‘be sensible’ without saying the words. “Would they be spouting the same nonsense if I were not your husband?”

While he had somewhat of a point, it wasn’t entirely true; a lot of the comments were directed at how she behaved instead of him. "Perhaps, but the one about the essay was especially pointed at me.”

“Essay?” His eyes widened, curiosity clear in his expression.

She huffed, crossing her arms as she told him, “One of my classmates speculated that I wrote you a 10,000-word essay on how to fuck me.”

He laughed!

Hermione watched in awed horror as Severus let out a bark of abrupt and uncontained laughter, leaning his head back against the sofa with his eyes closed. A moment later, he schooled his features as if he were trying to not continue laughing as he apologized. “I am sorry, I should not have laughed.”

Resting her hand on her hips, she towered over him, staring him down as she demanded answers. “You think it is funny? You think I am that much of a swot too?”

“I have read many essays from you that exceeded the word limit; that is why I laughed,” he said as he cleared his throat, taking in what looked like a calming breath. A humored smirk hung at the corners of his mouth as he wiped the inner corner of his eyes as if his laughter had almost brought him to tears. “And, if someone were to write an essay on such a subject, I would bet a significant amount of money on it being you. That is where I find the humor.”

When he put it that way, she felt a little less put out and could see his point of view.

“I suppose it is a little funny if I think about it,” she agreed, letting her hands fall to her sides.

His expression turned serious as he shifted forward, reaching for her hand, which he held in his. “The cruelty of it directed toward you was not, however, funny at all. If there is some way I could stop it, I would. You do not deserve to be treated that way.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice, or the way he was looking up at her while holding her hand, made her chest warm and her breath catch slightly. It was comfort in the wake of the pain, relief in being seen, and something else, something that stirred lower, above her belly. A fluttering of something like excitement that felt out of place but not unwanted. Hermione curled her hand around one of his, letting out a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Black eyes warmed and he smiled, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “Would you like some tea? I’d just made myself a sandwich and some crisps, and I can make you one as well.”

“That would be lovely,” she agreed, smiling down at him.

Severus let her hand go, pushing to his feet. She didn’t step back, and she looked up at him, realizing he was incredibly close to her. Her eyes met his, and that warm flutter increased, spreading through her. Something passed between them in that moment; she felt it, and she knew he had too as his expression shifted through several unreadable emotions before returning to neutral. He stepped around her, breaking the moment as he headed toward the kitchen. “Do you want to tell me what else they said?”

Hermione realized she hadn’t been breathing, and she inhaled deeply, shaking her head. "It's not worth voicing.”

“Very well,” he said with his back to her. “The offer to listen to you vent about them is a standing one.”

She smiled, following him across the living room, the majority of her rage and frustration settling to the recesses of her mind as the warmth of their interaction displaced it.

It took him but a moment to make good on his offer to make her tea, a plate matching his sitting in front of her, a sandwich and crisps, and a glass of lemonade. The same silence that they enjoyed with breakfast settled over them, and Hermione let that soothe the last of her frayed nerves from her day at university.

The pop and clink of the letterbox echoed through the living room. They exchanged a look, and Severus summoned the letters that had come through to the table. 

“I think this is the most non-business post I have ever had at this residence in this amount of time,” he told her as he glanced at them, offering them over to her. “Two for you, Mister Krum, and the Ministry.”

She thanked him, swallowing the last bit of her food as she opened Viktor’s letter first. It was accompanied by a photo of him in his climbing gear, hanging off the side of a mountain by one arm, the other waving at her. Master Fluffers was strapped to his back, tongue lolling out to the side in a happy pant. She did her best to ignore the fact that he’d done a dangerous thing to take this photo for her and turned to his writing. 

My Skŭp!

It brings the joy of the sun to my heart to know that Severus is treating you well. I am done at Mount Musala for the season, Master Fluffers and I climbed to the peak and back on two different excursions. The wind, she calls me down from the mountains, and so we shall go wind sailing in Croatia for a while. Master Fluffers needs the warmth as well, his little paws are tired of cold peaks. I shall send you many photos, and you should keep them around, so Severus is reminded you are protected by me. If you need me, you can send an owl, and I shall come.

Are your classes going well? Do you still find in them joy? I was told by a hiking friend that Arithmancy is very important to know when to go on hikes to make sure the mountains do not sneak a storm up on you. Do you know how to find out about sneaky mountain storms? I should like you to teach me if you do.

I hope you are smiling, my Skŭp, the world is a rainy day without your grin. I found some sweets for you, they are like honey. They should be there soon.

All my love, and all of Master Fluffers’ too,

<3 Skapi 

“Do I get to live another day?” Severus asked as he wiped his hands together to get the crisp crumbs from his palms.

“Yes, Viktor is happy that you are treating me well.” Hermione grinned at him, showing him the photo with a nod of her head. “But he still wants me to keep photos of him around to make sure you know I’m protected by him.”

“Would it ease him if you told him you were protected by me as well?” Severus offered, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I have no interest in harming you, and I also will not allow someone else to do so to you. I could write to him to tell him as much to go with your letter back, if it will help.”

Her jaw dropped for a moment, because she had not expected that he would offer to write Viktor himself. “You don’t have to write to him, I will tell him you said that. It should settle his nerves.”

“It is good that you have friends who care about you,” Severus told her as he got up from the table, carrying his dishes with him. “Situations like these let you know who your real friends are. Mister Krum seems to be one of them.”

Hermione had to agree with him, Viktor had been a stalwart friend since her fourth year. She opened the second letter, wondering what madness the Ministry had for her now.

Missus Granger,

This letter is to inform you that your mandatory natal check is scheduled at St. Mungo's in eight weeks' time from this date at 11:00 am. This appointment will consist of a wellness exam, a natal check to see if your union with Mister Granger is yet fruitful, and a check to ensure that you are not violating the law by utilizing conception. If you cannot make this appointment, you will be required to fill out the enclosed forms and attend an appointment within 72 hours of this date.

Failure to meet these requirements, or attempts to circumvent the anti-contraception statute, will result in a warrant for your arrest. Your compliance is a stipulation of your release from custody.

Regards,

The Department of Magical Populace Control

She felt the air rush out of her lungs, the burn of indignation chasing away the warmth and peace of the moment. It was not enough that they were trying to get her to produce an offspring against her will; they were bloody impatient about it too. She’d been married a whole week, and they expected that she would be pregnant within eight weeks. Normal married couples who were trying for a baby probably took longer than that. 

“Are they out of their minds?” she questioned, half crumpling the letter in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked her from the kitchen, putting away the dried dishes from breakfast.

She shook the letter in his direction, as if shaking it would knock some sense into the writer. “I have a natal check in eight weeks,” she told him.

Severus made a disapproving sound as he shut the cabinet door. “Sooner than I expected.”

There was a part of her that had suddenly begun to panic. They didn’t have a plan yet, and this timeline gave her less time to figure one out. Eight weeks was hardly enough time to submit a form at the Ministry, let alone get a law overturned. “If I don’t go, I will be arrested,” she voiced her worries, trying to think of what they could do.

“You are going to go,” Severus told her without room for reproach, sitting down across from her at the table.

Wide-eyed, she gazed at him as if he didn’t understand what the appointment would reveal. “And then they will know that we haven’t been compliant and haven’t slept together.”

His eyebrows rose, his gaze traveling over her as if he were trying to find something before he met her gaze. His voice lowered, as if he were unsure if he wanted to ask his question. “Are you a virgin?”

“No,” she refuted, crossing her arms, feeling exposed by his question. She had had sex before, but surely there was some way they would check to see if she had been having sex with him.

“Then how will they know? You are dealing with idiots who think an intact hymen is an indicator of purity, even when there are both magical and Muggle studies proving otherwise,” Severus questioned her, pointing to the letter that had fallen to the table. “They are going to run a few tests; the first will be to ensure you are healthy and not actively sabotaging your body with drugs, the second will be a scan for a sign of prenatal life, and finally one to ensure you aren’t taking any contraceptives. There is no spell to see whom you’ve last slept with, like a ‘priori incantatem’ for your body. If there were, imagine how many bastards would have never been born. They will have no way of knowing unless you tell them, which means you have to act as if we are sleeping together," he impressed upon her, looking at the letter more closely. “The expectation of a pregnancy this soon is eagerness on their part, but also to make sure you remember they are in control. It’s a leash tug.”

“You sound like you aren’t surprised." She noted how calm he seemed in the wake of this.

“I have worn a few collars in my life, Hermione,” he muttered with a hint of melancholy. “I know when a master is wanting to exert his power and remind you of your lack of it.”

“So, I shouldn’t be worried,” she asked, thinking about the words he’d just said carefully. If there was no spell to tell them that she hadn't slept with Severus, then they did have more time than she thought. 

“No, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” he told her, peering into her eyes with grave intent. “As long as you make them believe that we are complying and that it just hasn’t worked yet. If you must, if pressed about how often or timing, convince them that I am struggling with some manner of impotence and therefore it doesn't happen as often as we would like.”

At that moment, Hermione realized that while she would get away with such things the first few times, this was not a tenable situation. “We aren’t going to be able to do this forever, are we?”

“We are going to do this as long as we can,” Severus said confidently. “And it is my hope that it is long enough for us to thwart this law.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Days morphed into weeks faster than she would have liked. Hermione no more than blinked, and suddenly she was in a steady routine in both her life and with Severus. She would wake up to a peaceful breakfast with him, discussing the day's tasks and the crossword, before she would dash off to university, attending her morning classes, after which she would either eat lunch with Neville or she would pop back to the house to have it with Severus. 

He always seemed surprised when she would choose to come home and have lunch with him but never said anything. It was never words with him; it was always a look, a widening of his eyes, a subtle change in the way he sat or stood that he would then relax away, or how he seemed to smile at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She didn’t say anything either, not wanting to call attention to it and make him stop out of embarrassment. Instead, she told him about her class, and if Thomas Walker had said anything snide again — as he’d taken to making it his mission to make Hermione’s life hell —, or ask about what he was working on while they ate at the small dining room table shoved into the corner of the kitchen.

After those lunches, she was off to afternoon practicals, or revision hall, where she offered her time to help others prepare for their exams or prepare for her own. When the last bell tolled from the tall belltower at the center of the university green, she would floo home, often to find Severus down in his lab still, or reading on the sofa that he declared more comfortable than his armchair. 

Once, when she’d come home from revisions, she found him sleeping on the sofa, head tilted back against the headrest, a book fallen against his chest, and Crookshanks curled up in his lap, just as unconscious. She felt her heart squeeze at the sight, something soft and cozy unfurling inside of her ribs. Since the floo hadn’t woken either of them, she assumed Severus needed the sleep, and so she had tiptoed around the room, carefully setting her things down on her desk before going into the kitchen and putting up a silencing spell so that she could start dinner.

She didn’t always cook dinner, even though he always cooked breakfast, but she couldn’t bear the feeling of taking advantage if he cooked all the meals. He told her he wasn’t put out, that he would have to cook for himself anyway, and so an extra portion was hardly a herculean effort on his part, but she had insisted until he relented. They agreed that she would cook three out of the seven nights, and never on a night before or after an exam, as he wanted her efforts to go into her education first and foremost. 

Regardless of who cooked, Severus insisted that he wash dishes, absolutely refusing to budge on the matter. Hermione wasn’t sure what was so important to him about it that he needed to be the one to do them, but when it became clear that this was a line he would not step back from, she let it go. 

She would instead tidy up around the house either before sitting at her desk to work on an essay or perching on the sofa in front of the fire with a book. She noticed that Severus seemed to mirror her choice of nightly activity. On nights she was at her desk, he was at his, the gentle tip-tap of his typewriter keys and the melody of his record soothing as she navigated through essays and arithmancy questions that made her head spin. But on the nights she chose to read on the sofa, he would sit next to her, his own book in hand. 

And he didn’t seem to mind that she didn’t sit properly in the seat either. She would often sit with her back to the arm, knees up with her feet flat against the cushion so that she could hold the book up against her knees. She’d started to tuck her toes under his thigh. In the beginning it had been unconsciously done, seeking warmth against the growing cold of the season. The first time he had lowered his book and glanced at her questioningly, causing her to quickly retreat with an apology. The second time, he cupped his hand around the back of her ankles, keeping her from jerking away, and gave her a look that she interpreted to mean ‘this is fine,' and so she left them there. Now, when he sat down next to her, she would smoothly tuck her feet under his leg, as if that was where they obviously belonged when they were reading together. 

She liked that they read together.

Hermione had genuinely begun to enjoy the time she spent with Severus more than the time she spent with anyone else. She started to look forward to coming home, knowing that he would be there and that he would have something interesting to say, or he would listen to her try to work out the intricacies of what she’d just learned, or he would merely sit with her in a peaceful quiet she’d never known. 

It wasn’t just peace, however, Hermione let herself sink into the feeling of being safe. She didn’t know it before, but even on campus, there was always this sense that she needed to be mindful of her surroundings; she needed to know who was around, why they were there, and how much of a threat they were. Even with her nose in her books, she could tell if Lavender was coming with a classmate or a boyfriend to the dorm just by footsteps. She knew every noise and every creak, and when something was different, she was on edge. 

She didn’t have that feeling anymore, not in Severus’ house. Hermione felt safe within these walls, even when he wasn’t there. He’d shown her all the defenses he’d placed on the house the first day he left her alone in it, making sure she knew how to activate wards, or relax them, if someone wanted to come through the floo. But it wasn't just the safety of the house either; it was his presence, calm and unwavering. Being around Severus made her feel secure, it let her exhale in ways she hadn’t been able to in over a decade because she knew that if trouble came knocking, she wasn’t going to have to be the one to solve it, at least not alone. 

The morning after she hadn’t put the broom against the door was the day she realized how secure she felt, how confident she was that Severus was a man of his word.

The day before had been a long day of exams, and having done more math in one hour than she’d done in several weeks, her brain was desperate for rest. She’d eaten the dinner that he’d thankfully cooked and excused herself early after the fifth attempt and failure to write the same sentence. Sleepily dragging herself up the stairs, she changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, went to her room, barely closing the door as she just collapsed into bed. 

In the morning, her door had been ajar, and Crookshanks was in bed next to her, snoring as if he were the one doing all the housework around the house and juggling his studies. Hermione was in the same state as she had been upon falling asleep, and she didn’t doubt her safety any longer. The fear that Severus would sneak into her room and take some kind of advantage was gone; in fact, the idea seemed as silly as someone telling her that he would say Gilderoy Lockhart had a valid point on something. 

Living with him painted a fairer picture of Severus, of someone more human than she had actually ever given him credit for. Even after the war, even with all the praise she poured on him for his efforts, even with how she fought the Ministry on his arrest after he woke up, she had never really realized that he was a person, rather than an entity. Not the way she did now, knowing how he liked his coffee, what shelf had all of his favorite books, and what music he listened to.

Not that he ever showed any of that to anyone else when they were outside of the house. She noticed it before one of their outings to town; it was a day that he needed to make a delivery and she needed more ink. Severus transformed from the relaxed man she’d come to know inside these walls to the foreboding wizard she’d known years before in a matter of moments. With every button he secured closed on his coat, Hermione could almost see invisible walls going up, feel the change in the air, and watch the lines deepen in his forehead. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been doing this so long that he didn’t even notice the change, if it was as natural to him as holding his breath underwater.

Anytime they went into town, they maintained the physical contact agreed upon, but now, it felt natural to her. Her hands would seek him out as if they had a mind of their own, entwining her fingers with his, or she would touch his shoulder to let him know she was going into a shop or that she had returned from one. Severus would at times, rather than hold her hand or give her his arm, walk with his hand on the small of her back, not firmly, never pushing her forward, but as an affirmation of his presence that sent warmth up her spine. 

He no longer seemed to hesitate when she touched him either; that almost imperceivable jerk she’d noted in the beginning was gone whenever she reached for him. Hermione would tug at the crook of his arm to draw his attention to something she saw in one of the shops, and he would glance at it and then ask her if she wished to go look at it. While there was still that same icy exterior in everything he did, she didn’t feel the same wariness or sharpness in it toward her. Perhaps because she knew the man under the mask, or because he never snapped at her, never raised his voice, never spoke down to her, even as he was tearing into the people around them. Instead, he spoke to her with respect and treated her as if she were his equal in ways that she’d never thought possible. 

And Merlin help someone who didn’t also treat her with the same respect. Severus had apparently overheard someone say something unkind about her, and he’d marched up to them and demanded that they say it to his face. The two witches had paled in what seemed to be horror and shuffled away shamefaced and with apologies. Hermione had felt both slightly uncomfortable at being so openly defended and also reassured in the sense of security growing in her. 

The only thing about these past seven weeks that had made her uneasy was that she didn’t have a plan to go after the law yet. Hermione had tried the legal route when this first happened, pulling up old statutes and laws and rulings to show why this nightmare of a law had been short-lived the first time around. She’d hired solicitors; she’d written extensive statements; she’d dug through archives to try to prove that this was against everything the Ministry supposedly stood for. It fell on deaf ears; it was painted as her throwing a temper tantrum, and she was disregarded by the legal system. 

As much as she didn’t have faith in it now, she was scraping for some other avenue. Most of the groups that had resisted the law faced the same fate that she and Severus did. Luna and Angelina, who had been dating for nearly five years, were forcibly taken from their home and placed under the same arrest. They were matched to men they didn’t know, older than them by five or six years, and told to comply or rot in jail. Angelina eventually agreed to relent to the law and marry her match as long as they wouldn’t send Luna to Azkaban, but Luna had spat in the face of the judge and was carted off anyway. Pansy and Romilda had run away to France, where Romilda’s father had bought them a home to be safe in, and they’d taken Ernie, Justin, Padma, Seamus, and George Weasley with them. Other, older residents resistant to the law had either fled the country when her injunction was dismissed, or had completely disappeared altogether. Some of those too young for the law to affect yet had been protesting at Hogwarts, but now seemed to be silenced by her marriage to Severus.

Everywhere she turned, there were closed doors and no answers. It was hard to not feel desperate, to not feel as if she were trapped with no way out. She’d quietly considered if a coup was an option, but the Ministry was a bit harder to sneak into nowadays, and surely the Minister wouldn’t sit with her for a little chat, with how loudly she had decried his leadership and morals. She was frustrated, as each week she tried to set aside time to figure something out, and each week nothing new came to mind.

And the looming date of the natal appointment in just a week did not help her nerves, as she was terrified that maybe Severus was wrong and there was a way to tell they’d not been intimate. Not that he would lie to her, but she was certain that if the Ministry had a way, they wouldn’t advertise it to give people like her a chance to work around it. 

She tried to distract herself from it, tried reading for pleasure and not just her mastery, as she sat on the sofa with Severus. She couldn’t get comfortable, and so instead of her normal position sideways on the sofa, she was sitting with her back against him, one leg thrown over the other as she continued to try to read the same sentence again. 

“Has the book made you so angry that you must huff and puff at it?” Severus rumbled, his breath moving her hair-tie bound curls as he turned his head to look at her.

She hadn’t realized she was making that much noise, but she was frustrated as her thoughts would not settle. It wasn’t the book’s fault; she actually loved John Case novels. “No, it’s not the book,” she told him, folding it over her thumb as she turned to look up at him.

Severus hummed thoughtfully as he closed his own book, tucking a worn fabric bookmark in between the pages. “You’ve been more agitated as of late. Am I right in assuming that it has to do with either the statute or your upcoming appointment?” he asked, honing in directly on what was bothering her.

“Yes, both,” she sighed. “Every avenue has been a dead end so far.”

“We have time, we will find a way,” he said in the same confident tone he used every time she voiced her concerns.

Hermione met his gaze, his face mere inches from her own in this position. She was so close to him that his words rolled over her, almost like a spell to induce calm. A calm she wanted to believe, but her mind was far too busy shaking the bars of its perceived cage, seeking its exodus to let them sink in. Her lips twisted into a disappointed frown. “It is easier to hear than to believe as of late, when every door feels like it has been shut in my face.”

“You get used to it, and then you get even,” he quipped with an understanding curve of his lips. “I have no doubts that when the moment comes and the path we need is open, we will prevail.”

“And this absurd invasive appointment,” she scoffed. "How many of these will I have to endure before we do? How many before they know I am lying?”

His brow furrowed and he shifted so that she was half against his chest as his arm went to the back of the couch. Hermione braced her elbow against his thigh, glancing up at him as he retreated into his thoughts. 

After a moment, he exhaled forlornly, meeting her gaze again. “I do not know, but if you would like, I can go with you to every single one of them and ensure they are only doing what is required and no more.”

“Would they even let you go with me?” she wondered aloud. There hadn’t been a mention in the original notice or the three follow-up notices that had shown up on whether he was required at or banned from attending them.

“You are my wife,” he said with a firmness she’d never heard him say it with before. "It is my right to be at your side, especially if it relates to my potential offspring. It’s in the statute.” Severus lifted his eyebrows and smirked.

She knew he was going to use every letter of that law to their advantage. While the notice hadn’t said anything, he was right; the law did say that he had a right to be involved to the extreme degree when it came to anything regarding his progeny. “They didn’t think anyone would read that so thoroughly, did they?”

“Not as well as you or I have, no,” Severus agreed, shifting again and anchoring himself by gripping the back of the sofa.

It occurred to her that she’d not actually asked if she could use him as a backrest; she assumed he wouldn’t mind. She lifted her head from against his chest, searching to see if she was the source of his discomfort. “Am I bothering you, lying against you like this?”

“If you were, I would have asked you to move,” he promised, shaking his head. “May I get back to my Clarke, or do you need more from me?" he questioned, waving the book in his hand into the corner of her field of view. 

Hermione felt bad for interrupting his reading, and she looked at her own book with disinterest. “I am fine; you don’t have to stop reading for me.”

“I have come against the same disappointment in my own pursuits, so I understand your frustrations,” Severus offered commiseratingly. “I also understand that constant worrying about something that cannot be changed at this moment will only rob us of these brief moments of peace.”

It wasn’t something she’d considered, but now that he brought it to her attention, she realized that he was right. She wasn’t enjoying this moment of peace, and that almost felt to her like the Ministry was getting a tiny victory over her life. They had too many large ones for her to give them this one. 

“You’re right.” Hermione lifted up, changing her position so that she could tuck her head against his shoulder, using him as a backrest again. “Do you mind if I just rest my eyes? Maybe that will make me feel better.”

He leaned in such a way that the back of her head was cradled into the junction of his arm and shoulder, flipping his book open with one hand. “I do not mind.”

With his permission, Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in deeply and letting go of as much of the stress as she could in one breath. She let the warmth of him sink into her skin, let the rhythm of his steady breathing soothe the tension she’d been holding onto. The cozy feeling that she’d felt when she’d seen him sleeping with Crookshanks took over her, and she settled into it and fell asleep.

“Hermione.” She heard her name called softly, shaking her from the refuge of her slumber. She inhaled sharply and snuggled back into the warmth around her, trying to chase the serenity she’d just been in moments ago.

“Hermione, you should take yourself up to your bed, as I am ready to go to bed myself and I don’t wish to leave you here.” Severus’ voice wove through her ears, rousing her mind enough that she blinked her eyes open. 

“Hmm, oh, okay,” she yawned sleepily. 

If he had let her, she would have slept there the whole night comfortably. She already mourned the soft cocoon of sleep, but he was right; it would be better if she went to bed. She sat up from leaning against him, rubbing her eyes. When she opened them, she realized that the sitting room was dimly lit now, only the fireplace and the light above the stove from the kitchen door illuminating it. The throw blanket that he had on the back of his arm chair was draped over her legs, and Crookshanks was asleep on her feet. She carefully folded back the blanket, slipping her feet out from her cat so she could put them on the ground. Crookshanks gave an annoyed mew as he got up and stretched at her side. Obviously he was comfortable with the arrangement as well. 

Pushing to her feet, she wobbled, still not fully awake, and she threw her arms out for balance, trying to shake the sleep fog away long enough to get upstairs.

A warm hand pressed against her lower back, stabilizing her. “Can you make it?”

“Mmhmm, just sleepy,” she told him groggily, dragging her feet as she made her way toward the stairs. 

Severus got up from the sofa, following behind her. “I’ll follow you up, can’t have you falling down the stairs.”

Hermione said nothing, only nodding as she took each step with drowsy care. She heard him behind her, but he didn’t push for her to move faster, letting her take her time. At the landing, she sleepily stumbled into her room, collapsing into her bed with her house clothes on. Turning on her side, she watched as Severus ushered Crookshanks into the room with a gentle tap of his foot as he moved to pull her door shut.

“Good night, Severus. Thank you,” she yawned, pulling her duvet over herself.

“Good night Hermione,” he replied warmly, and she noticed as he closed the door that a soft smile was on his face. She would have thought more of it if Crookshanks had not hopped on the bed, pressed himself against her, and aggressively purred her back to sleep. 

The weeks since their forced honeymoon seemed to slow down for Severus. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was about living with Hermione, but her presence seemed to bring a tempo to his life that he hadn’t known he’d been missing. The steady ebb and flow of her class schedule, of her comings and goings, seemed to balance out his own erratic manner of working. No more was he working into the late hours of the night or unaware of what day of the week it was, because they had flowed into each other as he engaged in the tedium of being a sole proprietor. Suddenly his time was broken into blocks. There were the times she wasn’t home; he would focus on his work, taking his orders in, reviewing supplies, sending out shipments, and of course brewing the requested items. The other times, when she was home, he found himself unable to focus on his work, instead wanting to learn about her day, inquire after her studies, or simply exist in the same space as her. 

Evenings had now become perhaps his favorite time of the day. While he did enjoy the companionable silence of them working separately and yet together at their desks, he especially looked forward to the nights she would instead choose to read. 

He’d begun to read in the evenings when she did so that he did not disturb her thoughts with the clacking of the keys of his typewriter, as he knew it would have made him irritable if he had been trying to read and had to suffer through it. So he’d decided to read when she did, and it had a marked improvement on his life. Severus found he was beginning to find actual joy in reading again, as he’d begun to indulge in it much more now than he had in recent years. Not just academia either; he’d stumbled upon his old collection of science fiction, from when he was young, in the small bedroom and had tucked himself back into the genre. 

Severus told himself that his love for the evening sessions on the sofa had everything to do with the reading and not to do with the closeness to Hermione. He didn’t quite know what to make of Hermione’s increased comfort around him, but he wasn’t going to say anything and make her stop either. At first, it was her feet under his thigh, which had startled him because they were ice cold and immediately began to draw warmth from him. He thought perhaps it was some natural instinct to seek warmth for her freezing toes, but when she realized it, she’d jerked back with shame.

And he immediately missed the contact.

So when she did it a second time, he halted her from withdrawing, holding her feet in place so that if she actually wished to pull away, she could, but he was telling her that she did not have to. Hermione seemed to understand his meaning and took that permission as a carte blanche to touch while they were on the sofa. He’d become a back rest, a foot rest, and a head rest on more nights than he could recall. Not that he intended to complain about it.

He had begun to experience what he considered a strong stirring of affection for Hermione. While he told himself it was completely platonic and definitely one-sided, Severus could not deny, at least to himself, that he did savor every moment of her warm body leaning against his. The simple human contact was soothing an empty ache that he’d carried for years. No one else ever willingly touched him, and never for so long or in such a carefree manner, as if this was what they did all the time. While he knew it meant no more to her than sharing the space with him, it meant a great deal to him.

Which is why he had stayed on the sofa last night with her asleep against him as long as he did, even though he was well past exhausted. He hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep tucked against his shoulder until she’d begun to softly snore. The sound vibrated through him and made him pause his reading; his eyes widened, and he barely dared to breathe and disturb her.

Something about her willingly falling asleep against him, after the fear she’d shown in the first few days, had him stunned. That dull ache of longing for something he’d never had the vocabulary to articulate waned, a warmth pouring over him like a soothing oil as he relaxed, letting her weight settle back into him. He took her in, her brown curls obscuring most of her from his view, but he could see that she had her arms curled up around her, her knees tucked into the cushion of the couch. He noticed her feet pressed together as if she were trying to warm them, and remembering how cold they often were under his thigh, he set his book against his lap, summoning his blanket from his armchair and levitating it so that it settled over her without him having to get up. 

A pleased, sleepy hum left her, and she nuzzled her face into him. He was surrounded by the scent of her, of parchment, ink, and a hint of vanilla, soft musk, and caramel that he knew came from her hair care products. This made the warm stirring of affection flare into life, and he wanted to drop his arm from the back of the couch and curl it around her midsection; something in him wanted to hold her to his side so desperately that he had to make a concerted effort to will his hand to stay exactly where it was. Even though he knew it would be a benign movement, he did not want to wake her or do anything to break the trust she had in him in this moment.

Had anyone ever trusted him so much that they would have fallen asleep against him?

He couldn’t think of a time or a person aside from her who had. 

His book no longer interested him, so he sent it to the bookshelf, and with a flick of his wand, he turned off the lights, hoping they would keep her asleep and comfortable. He could still see her in the firelight, and he leaned his head ever so gently against hers, ready to move away the moment she stirred or protested. But she didn’t, and so he sat there with her asleep against him, savoring the simple pleasure of the moment, the comfort of being touched willingly. 

Her familiar joined them, curling up at her feet with nothing more than a wide, toothy yawn and a golden-eyed glance in his direction.

Severus remained in that position for hours, well past the time he would have dragged himself to bed for another sleepless night, beyond the point that his arm went numb and he lost the feeling in the tips of his fingers. It was not until he caught himself falling asleep, his nose pressed into her curls before he jolted away, that he knew that he would have to wake her and break up this moment. 

Her sleepy exodus from his side left him mourning the warmth of her and regretting that he could not have stayed that way longer. If he trusted himself to not have a nightmare or to embrace her in his sleep, he would have remained on the sofa until morning. However, without a guarantee of his own behavior while asleep, he didn’t dare risk it.

So he did the responsible thing, the wise thing, and ushered her to her own bed, where she could sleep in peace. He almost laughed as she faceplanted into the mattress with a loud thump, but when she turned to look at him with that sleepy, hazy smile on her face, he felt the affection in him spread from his crown to his toes. Once her familiar sauntered into the room, he wished her goodnight, and secured the door closed.

After his nightly routine, his own bed seemed like an adversary more than a refuge. Sleeping in this room, the room of his childhood horrors and the same room that he’d been forced to house Pettigrew in, gave him no sense of peace. Instead, it evoked memories of terror and impotent rage, which kept him up at night. Severus hadn’t had a good sleep in several weeks, but still he tucked himself under the duvet, hoping to be so exhausted that it did not matter.

Twisting the pillow under his head, his arm crooked under it, he caught the barest hint of the scent of Hermione, and in a desperate, indulgent desire for sleep, he imagined that he was lying with her in the other room, his nose tucked into her curls and the warmth of her against him again.

To his surprise, sleep came like a heavy blanket, tucking him into it, before he even realized he was holding his second pillow in the same way he had desired to hold her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Very few people ever knocked on his front door, and Severus had become wary of the two types of people who did. Either a Muggle, selling something and unaware that his house was one with a sign clearly stating ‘no solicitation’ on it, or a wizard who didn’t have access to his floo and wanted something from him. Severus decided to ignore the knocking to see if whomever it was would leave, assuming him not home. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Whomever it was, they were not going to be ignored, and that irritated him. The last time it had been Aurors to drag him to his Ministry wedding, and he wondered if the same sort of confrontation was waiting for him. 

As Severus crossed toward the door, Crookshanks, who had taken to following him to each room he went to in the house whenever Hermione was gone, began to follow him toward it. He stopped, looking down at the housebeast with warning. He knew Kneazles were smart and could understand speech, and so he pushed the cat back from the door with his foot, speaking directly to him. “You should make yourself scarce; she will never forgive me if something should happen to you.” 

The golden-eyed creature looked up at him, tilted his head, and then turned around, slipping into the space between the sofa and the bookcases.

Satisfied that Hermione’s familiar was safely hidden, he gripped his wand, holding it so that as he opened the door, it was hidden from view, and dropped the wards. Severus cracked it open to peer through it, eyes narrowed and an unfriendly sneer in place. 

It was not a muggle, as a mop of black unruly hair, recognizable glasses and unmistakable green eyes met his. Severus lowered his wand only slightly at seeing who was on his porch, opened the door slightly more. 

Harry Potter was not in his Ministry attire, so Severus assumed that he was here for a social call with Hermione and had not had the presence of mind to inquire if she would even be available for it. It did not surprise him, as Potter still seemed to operate on the notion that the world revolved on his timeline and that they were all side characters in the story of his life. 

“Mister Potter,” Severus bit back on the desire to snarl, instead offering a cool, indifferent tone as he spoke. It would not make Hermione happy if he were rude to her friends just because they didn’t have the presence of mind to consider her schedule. “I regret to inform you that Hermione is not here.”

“Where is she?” Potter demanded, green eyes looking past him into his home.

Harry’s words had an edge of accusation to them that Severus did not appreciate, but he considered the time, speculating where she would be in her class schedule. He knew that she had Trigonomagicks starting around this time, and so he explained this to Potter. “I assume, at this hour, she is in her second lecture of the day, perhaps still in her first if it has run late today.”

"Oh." The younger man seemed to relax, as if this was not the answer he was expecting. "That's okay; I came here to speak with you.”

Severus tilted his head, eyeing the man on his doorstep suspiciously. “With me? Why?”

“Could I come in?” Potter asked, glancing up and down Spinner’s End as if he were concerned who might hear his words. 

This young man had only come to his residence once before, and since the trial was long over, he assumed that it had nothing to do with the former visit. Likely he had a favor to ask, or something that the world needed from Severus that he had no desire to offer. Severus wanted to tell him no, wanted to keep his presence from tainting the peace of his home. But Potter was also an Auror, with access to the Ministry that neither he nor Hermione had, and there was a chance this was in regard to the statute. Even Potter was not so self-absorbed and single-minded to think they had given up the fight just because they chose not to go to prison. It was on those grounds only that he opened the door the rest of the way, gesturing for him to enter. "Briefly, do not make me regret it.”

Potter crossed the threshold, stepping into the sitting room, and tucked his hands behind his back. 

Severus closed the door, reactivating the wards and locking it before joining him in the sitting room. He did not offer for him to sit, as he didn’t want him to get comfortable, and he had no desire for Potter to sit in his or Hermione’s spots on the sofa.

Regarding the younger man, whose eyes were scanning over Hermione’s space with scrutiny, he crossed his arms with a huff. “Out with it.”

“I have heard a few troubling things,” Potter began, turning to gaze at him with the same inspection, “and you told me, after your trial, that if ever I were concerned with rumors about you, I should come to the source.”

That had been what Severus said when the boy-who-lived turned man-who-won, remarked that he’d heard rumors that Severus intended to do harm to himself if he was sentenced to go back to Azkaban. It had been a remark meant to make Potter think before spouting nonsense, but Potter had taken it to mean something else. There had been many rumors about Severus in the past several years, and not once had Potter shown up, so this had to be something serious, something that required a personal visit. “I did. Is that why you are here?”

“Yes, because I’m concerned about some of what I have heard,” Potter explained, without explaining anything at all.

Severus inhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he was wont to do when speaking with most of his former students. “With what, precisely?"

“Ron has been telling people that you have Hermione brainwashed and that you’ve got her locked up here in this house.” Potter glanced away from him for a moment, his eyes roving over Hermione’s belongings again. “He is claiming that you are forcing her into all manner of unsavory things and that you’ve warped her mind with potions or something so bad that she attacked him.”

So Mister Weasley didn’t get his fill of a broken nose in the bookshop and was seeking to get something more severe broken. Severus felt the muscles in the back of his neck tighten, and he rolled his head to stretch them, his jaw tightening as he considered the implications. Anyone with a brain cell would have known why Hermione attacked Weasley. Unless the red-headed nuisance had forgotten to brag about his part of the exchange. “I see, and did Mister Weasley tell you what he said to Hermione before she, of her own accord, broke his nose and knocked him on his ass?”

Potter’s green eyes narrowed in either suspicion or confusion; it was harder to tell on him than it had been on his mother as he replied, “No, he didn’t.”

“Allow me to inform you then,” Severus stated, uncrossing his arms. “He accused me of being a pedophile, Potter. He claimed to the entire shop that I had some sick interest in Hermione while you all were. My. Students. He then also claimed that I had paid someone to marry her to fulfill that sordid interest. Does that paint a fuller picture of the situation for you?”

Potter sighed, rolling his eyes and running his fingers through his hair. At this moment, Severus could not shake how much he looked like his father, if only a little shorter. Potter frowned. “He has said those things to me as well, I wasn’t aware he said it to her.”

“He did say it to both of us. And she got to him before I did,” Severus drawled heatedly. That Potter had heard this and took it so casually, as if it were not a great insult to Severus, ignited a spark of anger in his chest. There were a great many things that he could be called and a great many sins he had committed, but never had he once entertained the depth of depravity that was being ascribed to him. He grit his teeth, doing his best to not start yelling at Potter for his idiocy. He reminded himself that yelling at Potter would not do any good, nor would it convince the young man that Hermione was safe with him. 

“So, she hit Ron because he was being rude, not because you made her,” Potter spelled out the obvious.

“She didn’t tell me her reasons, and I did not ask. I merely helped her ice her hand afterwards,” Severus told him curtly, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

“So, you aren’t—”

“Keeping her trapped, brainwashed, and locked up? No, Potter, I am not,” Severus quietly fumed, the anger in his chest seeping into his words.

Severus stared at the other man, almost daring him to level more accusations at his feet. It would be nothing for him to throw Potter out, to launch him into the street with a flick of his wand and a well-timed spell. 

A meow broke Severus’ thoughts as Crookshanks came out from behind the sofa and sat in front of Severus’ feet. He was looking up between Potter and Severus, letting out another meow before looking at Potter and flicking his tail back and forth.

"Hey, Crooks.” Potter smiled, kneeling and extending his hand toward the feline.

Crookshanks sniffed his hand and then turned his head up at him, moving away and weaving himself around Severus’ legs before lying over the top of his left foot.

Severus snorted, shaking his head as he gestured to the cat. “As you can see, her housebeast is not ill-treated either.”

Potter stood up, his gaze flicking between Severus and Crookshanks with confusion. “I didn’t think you’d let her keep him here; I thought he was with Hagrid.”

“Why would I keep her from her familiar, Potter?” he contested.

“You weren’t fond of them in the past,” Potter said with a shrug. “I assumed you wouldn’t let her have him in your home.”

He honestly wished that those who claimed to put the past behind them truly would. “In a classroom, around fire, reagents, and hazards, I feel they have no place. In a home, they are acceptable, as long as he keeps his hair out of my supper and off my bed.” The last part was pointed at the furry beast in question, who yawned and rolled over on Severus’ foot as if to say he was ignoring him.

“You don’t let him sleep with you and Hermione?” Potter asked, snapping his fingers gently to try and get Crookshanks' attention.

Severus rose his eyebrows, shaking his head. “Hermione and I do not sleep in the same bed.”

Potter jerked his head up in his direction, eyes wide in surprise. “You don’t?”

Shite. Severus thought, not thinking how that would sound to the younger man. Thinking quickly, he offered a reasonable explanation. 

“She has her own room, which I do not go into, but she can come into mine when she needs me,” he said, making sure to emphasize the ‘needs’ in such a way that it could only mean one thing. 

Potter held his hand up, shaking his head and paling slightly. “Okay, I don’t need details.”

“You aren’t invited to be privy to them.” Severus recrossed his arms, feeling secure in the fact that Potter definitely thought that he was sleeping with Hermione. 

“Are you —” Potter began and then stopped, as if he’d either forgotten why he had started speaking or wasn't sure how to say what he wanted to ask. 

The silence grew, the ticking of his clock on the mantle adding to his irritation as Potter seemed to try to parse out his thoughts. After a minute, Severus’ patience ran out, and he growled in frustration. “Spit it out, I’ve not got all day!”

“Are you hurting her?" Potter spat the words as if he were certain that he was going to be attacked for them. Potter began to shift his weight back and forth as the questions started to pour out of him. “Is Ron right? Should I be worried about her safety? Are you drugging her? I believe you are a man of honor, that you are a man who keeps his word, and so that is what I am asking for. Do I have your word that Hermione is being cared for, that she isn’t being harmed, and that you are treating her with at least civility, if not kindness?"

Standing to his full height, the fury in his chest bubbling up his throat with an emotional heartburn, Severus drew in a breath, letting all the questions and accusations thrown at his feet settle. It was his turn to gather his thoughts, to let Potter squirm and wither and consider his own questions.

He wanted to scream at Potter.

He wanted to throw something; he wanted to shake common sense into him.

It would have been nothing for Severus to do these things; the fire was there, and the insults were woven between the accusations to give him cause to do so. 

But amid the temper and the twitching desire to throttle Potter, Severus knew it would send the exact opposite message. And then what would that do?

Potter would go on a crusade against him. Potter would upset Hermione. He would lob accusations at him that would splash onto her life. While he didn’t give a shite what others thought about him, he was not going to let his actions paint her in any negative light. 

So, against his desires of assault, Severus drew in a deep breath, forcing a calm over the frustrated rage in his stance. When he exhaled, he began to speak slowly, his voice low and even, with an edge of seriousness that he hoped Potter picked up. “Missus Granger is being treated as my wife, with all the respect that title is due. You have my word that she has not and will not come to harm while I am capable of preventing it. As for being cared for, she is a rather independent young woman, so I do what she allows. And she is allowed to do as she wishes, come and go as she wishes, and see whom she wishes. She is no more a prisoner here than I am. Does that satisfy your concerns?”

Potter’s eyes widened and then narrowed, his expression going from surprise to concern to something that Severus interpreted to mean acceptance as he lifted his hands in peace. “I am sorry if I offended you by asking, but Hermione is important to me.”

Severus scoffed, gazing at Potter as if he’d said the stupidest thing he’d heard in his life. “So important that it has taken you eight weeks to make sure her husband isn’t abusing her?”

The embarrassment was clear in the way that Potter’s face went red, all the way to the tips of his ears. His eyes fell to his feet, and he bit his lip. “Well, I am also a husband now too, with a child on the way, and I hoped that Hermione would have reached out if she needed me before now." He offered it as if it were an excuse.

Severus wasn’t accepting excuses when Potter had come with accusations.

“We both believe she would reach out if she felt she were in danger, so why come now?” He demanded. “You’ve spoken to Weasley in these eight weeks, but I’ve not heard once from her that you’ve contacted her. Why come to me instead of asking her yourself? Why show up on my doorstep acting like a hero now, Potter, when you weren’t there for her this whole time?”

Potter met his gaze, a hint of anger in it that Severus knew all too well. He’d hit a sore spot. Potter clenched his fists, glaring. “I came to you because Ron is starting to get rather convincing and I wanted to know for myself,” he explained, not answering Severus’ other questions. 

Severus didn’t need him to answer; his silence was enough. His silence told him that Hermione was only important when she was a damsel who needed saving or he had a problem that needed solving. She was only important when it suited Harry Potter, and anything else she suffered was on her to handle. Something inside of Severus railed against that, against how the ‘savior of the wizarding world’ was so similar to his mentor, the great abdicator of responsibility and human compassion, Albus Dumbledore. 

That it was only Ronald’s constant protests that brought Potter here told him that Weasley had too much time on his hands as well if all he could do was spread accusations against him.

“Perhaps Mister Weasley should focus on his own spouse rather than mine,” Severus snarled.

Potter sighed, groaning as if that was not a new sentiment to him. “He’s being a prat to Millie, and he’s basically abandoned her in the house they got from the marriage. Won’t go see her, won’t speak to her; basically showed up a few times to do his 'duties,' and once she came back pregnant, he told her to sod off. I’m trying to get him to see reason and at least treat her with compassion. She didn’t ask for this anymore than Hermione did.”

Severus blinked slowly, processing what he’d just heard. Ronald Weasley was disparaging him, yet he had abandoned his pregnant wife to suffer through alone. His pregnant wife, who happened to be one of his former students, not just any student, but a Slytherin that Severus personally tutored and had in his care. The wash of fury turned ice cold, everything crystalizing into the kind of anger that got people hurt. 

Potter was here, accusing him of treating Hermione poorly, even with evidence to the contrary, but he was seemingly not as concerned about Weasley’s treatment of his own wife. “Perhaps it should be Milicent you should be more concerned about than Hermione, Potter. You say he has abandoned her in their shared house while she is pregnant. I would never do such a thing to Hermione.” Severus jutted out his jaw, stretching it to relieve the desire to curse Potter for his double standards and idiocy. “It would be best if you leave now, before I say something that my wife will not be pleased about me saying to her friend.”

Potter took a step back toward the door, nodding. “Fair point. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Potter,” Severus spat, lifting his foot from under Crookshanks and closing the distance.

“Yes, Severus?” he asked with concern in his voice. 

“Do not come unannounced like this,” he enunciated, making sure his point was very clear. “And do not come to me with these accusations again. Hermione is safer here than with anyone else they could have matched her with.” He meant the words, down to his very core, and he wanted Potter to know it.

“Is she happy?” Potter asked quietly, his hand on the door knob,

Severus paused, the wind faltering in the sails of his cold fury, suddenly feeling left-footed and speechless. While he was certain she was safe here, he didn’t precisely know how to answer this question. He didn’t know what a happy Hermione looked like to know for himself if she were. “I think that is a question you should ask her. I do not believe she is unhappy here, and I do not try to make her so.”

“Good enough for me." Potter nodded, opening the door. “Thank you for your time, Sna—Severus.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “It’s Granger, and you know it.”

“It’s weird, and you know it,” Potter replied, making a disgusted face.

“Do I? Goodbye, Potter.” 

Severus shut the door in his face and immediately locked the door, getting one small moment of satisfaction from it before his mind turned over the information from the meeting. While he was still frustrated by Weasley’s rumor mongering, he was startlingly incensed over what Weasley was doing in his own match. He assumed that Milicent was not happy with her match to Weasley any more than he was. He also knew that she was a proud, defiant woman, likely no different from the girl she’d been under his care, who’d never reach out for help. 

This is the sort of thing this barbaric law created. 

Women trapped in marriages with unwanted children and neglectful fathers who have no interest in raising their children. Shades of his own childhood came to mind, of a mother who managed a house mostly alone, even with his belligerent father stumbling home drunk and disinterested in being more than a terror to those he lived with. Severus clenched his fist, sucking in a frustrated breath as he leaned against the door of the sitting room. Circumstances like this are why he’d done everything he could do to fight this. 

The floo flashed green to life, Hermione blowing in like a zephyr wind, her face scrunched up. “I cannot believe him!”

It appeared that Hermione had had another issue of her own while she was at university. Swallowing down as much of his anger as possible, he glanced at her as he straightened up from his leaning position. “What did Mister Walker do now?”

“No, Ron did it!” she announced, her hands shaking, one clenched around a piece of paper.

Immediately that ire was back, mingling with worry for her as he crossed the room, visually checking her over. “Mister Weasley was at your campus today?”

“No, he’s not tried that,” she grumbled, shaking the parchment in her hand in his direction. “Instead, he’s run off to his mother, and now Molly is running off to Charlie, who also thinks I need to be rescued. He sent this to my professor, telling her he was worried that I would not get it at home. Professor Payne was not pleased or happy about being a messenger. I am so mad I could scream; it was so embarrassing!” She shoved the paper into his hands, dropping her bag of books on her desk. “Here, read this.”

Severus took the parchment from her, doing his best to unwrinkle it as he scanned over the words.

Hey Hermione,

I know you must be wondering why in Merlin’s name I am writing to you. No, there is no dragon loose that I need help with before you start to worry, and Norberta is fat, happy, and still too sparky for her own good.

I am writing because I got a very worried letter from Mum. I had heard there was some kind of forced marriage thing going on back home, but then we had a clutch of Horntails get scale rot, and we had to treat it before they suffered and didn’t think any more of it. Clutch survived too; we got it all. But Mum wrote saying you were in a bad spot, that they married you off to Severus Snape, of all people, and something about how he'd turned you against your friends and you punched Ron. 

Now, I know to take everything from Mum with a grain of salt, or a ton depending on how ruffled her scales are, but are you in danger? She is certain that Snape is treating you like some kind of domestic slave or something. Did you punch Ron because Snape made you or because my brother is and always has been a little bit of a short-tempered buffoon?

If you are in danger, I will come get you. We will get this whole marriage with Snape annulled. I have a friend here at the sanctuary who is apparently a part-time priest. Who knew? He will forge an earlier marriage, punch it with his seal and everything. I can get you out of England, and then we will annul this one so you are free to go. I just can’t stand the idea of you being in a rough spot. And it isn’t like I’m afraid to fight Snape either if he’s keeping you captive. Wouldn’t be the first time. Well, the captive part might be new, but the preparing to duel him part won’t be. I’ll even fly in on dragonback to push the point should I need to. Norberta could use the exercise.

Send me an owl and give me your side of this and tell me if I need to come get you.

Your friend,

Charlie Weasley

It seemed that at least this Weasley was sensible, not jumping to conclusions and asking her if she was alright. Severus folded the letter closed, trying to control his breathing to remain calm. It seemed that Ronald Weasley was becoming more of a problem by the second, and Severus wanted to apparate to wherever he was and give him the trouncing he was desperately begging for. 

“I see,” Severus breathed out, handing the letter back to her. “I suppose you should write back to him and tell him that I am not the monster that his idiotic moronic brother is making me out to be. I will be in my lab.” He turned to leave, hoping to calm himself before he took something that was not her fault out on her. 

Hermione caught his arm, halting his exodus. “You looked mad before I handed you that; what’s wrong?”

Closing his eyes, he let the warmth of her hand expel some of the tension in him. He turned back to her. “Potter just left a few moments ago.”

“Oh, why?” she asked softly, and then her eyes narrowed as she came to the conclusion that it was Harry that had upset him. “Oh no, what did he say?”

“Apparently, Molly is not the only person whom Weasley is running his mouth to. Potter came to make sure I wasn’t harming you or keeping you locked up or brainwashing you, or what else did he say…” Severus quickly replayed the conversation, finding the words. “...forcing you in all manner of things, whatever that is meant to mean.”

“I am so sorry,” Hermione apologized, squeezing his arm. “He’s an idiot if he is listening to Ron, and I wish I had been here to set him straight.”

“It is not your fault. Potter was at least respectful, so I didn’t have to throw him out of the house,” Severus stressed, not willing to tell her how much he had wanted to do so. “His statements about us were not what has me so vexed.”

Her hands slipped from his arm, the letter sent to the desk with a toss as she grasped his hands in hers. His eyes went to their conjoined hands, letting the contact keep him from clenching them. Her fingers were inkstained, some of it smearing on to his fingers, but her hands were also soft and warm against his own callused fingertips. It was grounding in a way that he didn’t understand, but he was not resistant to it. Severus let her lead him to the sofa, following suit as she sat down and guided him toward it. 

“What did he say then that has made you so mad?” she asked, brown eyes searching his with obvious concern.

Severus gazed into her eyes, knowing he was angry, feeling the anger that wavered from icy-sharp to hot and burning in his chest, but also a relief he didn’t understand. Hermione was giving him room to air his grievances, and he was certain that it was not so they would be used against him in the future. Exhaling in that relief, he frowned, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. “Mister Weasley has abandoned Milicent, who is pregnant, in the house that they share. According to Potter, he had been a ‘prat’ and told her to ‘sod off’ once he’d done his 'duties.'"

“Merlin, he is such an idiot!” She looked up to the ceiling in disbelief. “Poor Millie, she didn’t ask for this.” 

“Mister Potter did say that at least, but he was very nonchalant, as if he considered Weasley’s behavior acceptable,” Severus complained.

"Wait a tick, how is he getting away with not being there? Don’t they have to sleep under the same roof?” Hermione questioned, her mouth twisting as she thought over the situation. 

Severus too wondered how Weasley managed to not draw the attention of the Ministry by not sleeping under the same roof as his wife. It could be because she was pregnant, or there could be some other circumventing that he’d figured out to evade detection.

“I don’t know,” Severus confessed. “But as you can imagine, I am not pleased to hear one of my former students is being neglected, and at the hands of a man who had the audacity to accuse me of cruelty, among other things.”

“Why isn’t Harry worried about her?” she asked, letting his hands go to stand up, pacing angrily. “I am safe here! You aren’t treating me poorly, you’ve been so kind and accommodating, and anyone who reads the Prophet can see I’m not a captive; we go out often.”

“I asked him the same thing, and he said he was trying to get Weasley to see reason and not be a prat,” he quoted the man. Severus opted to not tell her that he’d asked why it had taken eight weeks for Potter to check up on her, as he didn’t think it would change anything. Potter had not given him a satisfactory answer, and he didn’t want to wound her with the knowledge that he’d only shown up because it was a chance to be a hero again, not because he actually cared for her. 

“That’s it?” Hermione huffed, still pacing, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “He comes over here and demands to know if you are keeping me locked up or brainwashed, but he's trying to make Ron see reason and not send him to be with her? Why are you the villain and Ron gets a pass for being cruel?”

“It is a double standard I am accustomed to, unfortunately,” Severus grumbled as he leaned back against the sofa, musing on what she’d said. He’d been the villain for so long that it was almost comfortable to be one again.

“It’s not fair to Millie or you,” she declared. 

Suddenly, his lap was invaded as Hermione sat on it, leaning her elbow against the back of the sofa as she touched his cheek tenderly. Severus froze, his hands pressing flat against the sofa as he quickly processed what had just happened. 

Hermione didn’t seem to notice his reaction as she ran her thumb over his cheek. “What do you want to do? Do you want to invite her over?”

He stared at her in awe as the warm weight of her chased back his frustrations. He was enveloped by the scent of her again, drawing the affection forward in his chest that overwhelmed the other emotions rattling around in his ribcage. There was something to the tenderness of her touch, how it was done so easily and so freely that had him choked up for a moment. Breaking her  stare, he glanced at the ceiling, as if he were thinking, if only to conceal that he felt wet at the corner of his eyes. Lifting his hand, he rubbed his eyes, hoping she thought it was from frustration and not the true reason. 

Considering her question, he knew that Milicent would be resistant to what she considered a pity invitation or someone thinking she needed to be reached out to. “She is proud and will not accept the offer or likely wouldn’t say anything if she did come over.”

Hermione let out a sigh of disappointment, shifting so that her head was against his shoulder, her hand resting against his chest. “Maybe I can befriend her? Surely we could talk about how Ron is an idiot, and we could try to find common ground.”

Lowering his gaze, finding his view partly obscured by her hair, he marveled at the kindness that was Hermione. She was constantly lauded for her wit, her intelligence, her tenacity, her cleverness, and her grit. Severus considered that she was not applauded often enough for the merit of her heart and compassion, her desire to help another person, even if she had grievances in the past with them. He vaguely recalled there was a fight of some sort between the two of them during their school years, and yet, here she was offering to find common ground and extend an olive branch. “I understand there is bad blood there. Were you two not some manner of enemies in school?”

“No,” she laughed against him, and the sound poured into his chest as if she had laughed life into his heart, it fluttered violently. “Just a fist fight between girls in school. She never bothered me afterward, except as part of the Inquisitorial Squad, and I was too busy with other things to worry about her. I won’t hold any of that against her, and I don’t like the idea of Ron mistreating her either. Invite her over, or out to dinner, if she doesn't want to come here.”

He was resisting the urge to wrap his arms around the witch curled up in his lap. Just as he had the night she fell asleep on him on this sofa. The desire to embrace her was strong, but not stronger than his fear of rejection, of this being taken away because he dared to ask for more.

“I shall write to her later,” Severus agreed, holding his head back from resting against hers, even with it so close.

Hermione leaned away from him, her hand pressed against his chest as if she meant to get up. “I can move so you can do it now.”

The loss was so great, the mourning preemptive as he lost the press of her body against his. Almost of its own violation, his left hand found itself against her side, pulling her back to him before he could command it to behave. “I do not want you to move, I want you right here,” he breathed out, his voice almost trembling in trepidation of her response.

Hermione leaned against him again, her eyes now on the hand on her side. “Oh,” she breathed out quietly. 

Severus took it to mean that he’d crossed the line, he’d gone too far. His face grew hot, as shame over not controlling himself flushed his face red as he lifted his hand away from her quickly. He lifted both away from her to show she was free to get up as he offered her a way out. “As long as you want to be right here.”

“I do,” she whispered, grabbing his hand and pulling it back so that it was on her side. Hermione sank against him, curls spilling over his shoulder as she let his left hand rest over her side, pulling it so that it was placed on top of the other one. “I want to be right here, Severus, with you.”

He tightened his grip on her, almost possessively. Severus exhaled so deeply, something in his bones releasing as his hands curved around her. The frustration was gone; the anger was smoothed away by the subtle wash of affection and comfort and longing finally being fulfilled until Severus’ chest felt too small for everything he was experiencing in that moment. He swallowed a lump in his throat, the pressure of it coloring his words with a hoarseness that had not been there before. “Then it is settled, you will stay here.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Each incessant tick of the clock on the mantle made her nerves rise higher, the surf drawing out to sea as the tsunami loomed over her sanity. Her hands would not stop sweating, and her guts churned, threatening to riot and evict her hard-won three bites of breakfast. Standing in the center of the sitting room, she stared at the floo as if it were going to transform into some beast that would swallow her whole.

In reality, she would not have fought it if it did, letting it take her and give her good reason to not go to this appointment. To not have her sense of self reduced to only an empty womb. To not have to face the fear and potential reality that they would know she and Severus were not completely complying with the law and what could happen if that were true. 

“Are you ready?” Severus asked her, coming upstairs from his lab, already dressed for the occasion. The tightly buttoned black attire and the long black jacket all told her he was not looking forward to this either. Hermione had learned from their different outings that the more buttons he wore, the more he thought he was going to have to defend or protect himself. A grocery run to the muggle shops was a simple button-up shirt and slacks; a trip into the wizarding world was rows of buttons on a frock coat; and for the Ministry and seemingly these appointments, it was those same layers and a thick, heavy ankle-length coat.

Hermione took him in and then considered his question. She didn’t think she would ever be ready, and to punctuate that point, her stomach flopped over itself, sending a queasy wave through her. “I feel as if I am going to be sick.”

“That will be either inconvenient or advantageous depending on when you do. A good vomit on the healer will make them think you could actually be with child. If I were you, I would aim for trousers, much more uncomfortable than shoes or a robe,” he offered with a hint of a smile on his face as he came to stand beside her, holding a narrow glass tube with a milky white substance in it.

“A joke at a time like this?” she asked, even as she felt a smile creep over her lips. 

Severus raised his eyebrows at her, the same humored expression on his face. “I am trying to ease your mind and your stomach.”

“It helped,” she admitted. He was right; puking at a natal appointment wouldn’t be a bad thing, nor would doing so on someone who was supporting the law. Maybe the Minister would be nearby.

“I’m glad, as I need you to drink this," Severus held the tube toward her between his fingers, uncorking it for her, “And I do not want you to throw it up if we can avoid it.”

Hermione glanced from him to the vial, inspecting it as she took it from his grasp. “What is it?”

“Do you trust me? Do you trust that I would not give you something that would harm you or endanger you?” he asked her, his tone no longer holding amusement but firm sincerity.

“Yes.” She didn’t need to think about the answer to that, not after the time they’d lived together. 

Severus nodded his head slightly, taking her word as an agreement. He rested his hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothingly against her blouse. “Then trust me, take it now, and I swear to tell you after your appointment.”

Hermione brought the mystery concoction to her lips, taking in a deep breath through her nose and then tipping her head back, pouring the contents into her mouth. She had to fight the urge to cough as the texture was not as smooth as it appeared, and the flavor of sidewalk chalk hit the back of her throat. She grimaced as she swallowed it all, blinking her eyes and opening her mouth to try to rid herself of the taste as she handed him the vial back. “Oh, Circe, that tastes like you strained it through a chalkboard eraser!”

“My apologies; it occurred to me to brew it last night, and I didn’t have the time to make it more pleasant,” he explained, sending the vial toward his lab. “I will endeavor to make it more palatable in the future.”

Hermione curled her lips in, licking the top of her mouth to try to both rid herself of the taste and wet the surface that felt like it had begun to dry out from the brew. “Can I drink something after it to get the taste out?"

“Let me get you a glass of water.” Severus walked into the kitchen with haste. He returned quickly, tucking a cool glass of water into her hands. “You do not want anything acidic, so no more coffee until after the appointment, I’m afraid.”

Hermione listened to him as she drank half the glass in one drink, washing the remaining taste down as much as she could. She swished the next sip of water around, trying to get the bits off her teeth before drinking the last of the glass down.

“Better?” he asked, stepping aside as she sent the glass to the kitchen.

“Well,” Hermione paused, assessing how she felt now that she no longer tasted it. Her stomach felt heavy now, but that did not stop the queasy wobble of it. "Now I think I shall be sick, and it will taste like I’ve licked a blackboard.”

Commiseration crossed his face as he offered her encouragement. “It should settle in a few moments. Do try to keep it down.”

She glanced at the clock on the mantel, seeing that they had to leave now or else they would be late. She didn’t want to think about the consequences of being late to his accursed thing.

“I will try to keep it down,” she agreed, reaching out for his hand and stepping toward the floo. 

He curled his fingers around hers and chuckled. “If you warn me before you get ill, I shall aim you at the nearest annoyance.”

“Wonderful, I’ve always dreamed of being a biohazardous weapon,” she mused, grasping the floo powder. 

They stepped into the floo together, and she watched as the mirth drained from his face, the stoic unmovable expression taking its place. Hermione found comfort in that as they stepped out onto the main floor of St. Mungos. His grip on her hand was firm as if he were telling her with his contact that he was not going to leave her to face this alone. They made their way to the appropriate floor, Hermione signing in before they took their seats. 

Severus sat next to her, his arm draped over the back of her chair, his hand against her side. It felt protective, and that eased a small amount of the building anxiety. While his joking had cut off the tidal wave of worry before it could crash into her, it did not stop the storm that had caused it. Hermione focused on breathing, on keeping the weighty potion in her stomach down, even as her stomach rippled with the current of her anxiety. 

An elderly woman in lime green robes approached, looking directly at her.

“Missus Granger,” she called out to her, her gaze scanning to the seat next to her, and her eyes widened. “Oh and Mister Granger! Please follow me.”

Hermione got to her feet, and before her hand could seek his, he was holding hers, walking with her behind this woman. She had permed tight curls that pushed out from under her nurse’s cap, and her heels clacked against the stone floor. They followed her down a series of corridors until they were directed into a room with a bed, a counter, a sink basin, and a chair. 

The woman shut the door behind them, a brilliant smile on her face as she turned to them. Hermione could not help but compare the woman to the muggle actress Betty White, from the show her mum would watch, The Golden Girls. The resemblance was uncanny, the more she thought of it, with her small stature, a face gently aged with smile dimples, a wide smile, and a sparkle in her eyes. 

“Thank you for coming, Mister and Missus Granger. I am Healer Carmen, and I will be taking care of your natal appointment today. How are we doing today?" the healer asked, gesturing for Hermione to get on the bed. 

Before Hermione could respond, Severus scoffed, narrowing his eyes at the cheery woman. “Dispense with the pleasantries; we are here to have my wife’s mandated natal check. Confine your questions to that endeavor."

Hermione glanced at Severus, who was stone-faced aside from his narrowed eyes to the healer. Healer Carmen seemed to smile brighter at him in the wake of his irritation, as if it had no effect on her enthusiasm at all. 

Hermione let go of Severus’ hand as she climbed to sit on the bed, resting both of her hands on her knees. The healer turned her attention from him to her, clasping her hands together excitedly.

"Are we excited, Missus Granger? Do you believe you are currently pregnant?” Her tone was just as saccharine as before, as if his words had no affect on her at all. 

Hermione shook her head as she answered. “No.”

“Why not?” The older woman’s voice was filled with a softness that met her eyes as she touched Hermione’s hand.

“I had my monthly just last week,” Hermione explained honestly, glad for the fact for once in her life.

The healer flapped her hand dismissively, the softness fleeing the wake of firm encouragement. “Oh, well, that doesn’t mean you aren't; don’t be sad.” She moved her hand from Hermione’s, drawing her wand and summoning her parchment to hover next to her. A lime green quill, with the St. Mungo's seal dangling from a tiny chain, floated above it, poised to take notes. “Let’s get you checked. I have to ask a lot of questions, and I need to physically examine you, as well as a few scans, but it won’t be that bad, don’t you worry. Do you want Mister Granger here or—”

“I am not going anywhere, I will remain with my wife." Severus cut in abruptly, stepping next to the bed and taking Hermione’s hand in his own.

The healer glanced at him and their conjoined hands and smiled as if he’d just told her the best news. “That settles that. What a great husband you have. Go ahead sweetie, lie back and get comfortable.”

Hermione glanced up at him with gratitude, squeezing his hand as she did as instructed, lying back and taking a deep breath. She’d worn a skirt, as she wasn’t sure how invasive this exam was going to be, but Severus had made mention that they would likely do a physical exam like this one. There was some comfort in knowing that she had come aptly prepared, even if she was already hating every moment of this. She swallowed hard as she felt the woman’s hand on her thigh.

“Are you taking any supplements?” Healer Carmen asked.

The question shook her from her focus on what was going on. She wasn’t taking anything. “N—”

“She is on a prenatal potion, supplied by me,” Severus cut her off.

Hermione jerked her head toward Severus, and he slowly glanced toward her, giving her hand a squeeze before returning his focus to the woman. It was now that Hermione realized he was watching her like a coiled snake, prepared to strike at the first wrong move. 

“Oh, splendid!” the healer who was now between her legs cheered. “You are very lucky to have a husband who is able and willing to make your potions for you. Most husbands are only ever interested in the making of the baby, not supporting the mother’s health,” the woman blabbered as she conducted the physical exam. “And he’s here for your appointment too; be careful, the other girls will get jealous.”

She bit her lower lip and rolled her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Her nerves were at an all-time high, and if she thought she could have gotten away with it, she would have apparated from the spot to get away from this situation. The comparison of her situation to ‘the other girls’ only reminded her that she was not the only one forced to suffer this, and it stirred her anger from under the anxiety. Her voice carried her anxious irritation. “Yes, I’m sure I am very lucky, can you please get this over with?"

“One more moment,” the healer answered. The quill was scratching away notation as the healer pulled Hermione’s skirt back down over her knees, moving to the sink to wash her hands. The chart floated in front of her, and she reviewed it, humming before drying her hands with her wand and turning back to them. 

“Let’s do the first scan and get some results.” She flicked her wand at Hermione, a golden sparkle of magic hitting her and spreading over her skin. It felt warm through her veins, and the sensation had the pleasant side effect of making her muscles relax. “Go on, sit up.”

She leaned into Severus’ grip, and she felt him tense his arm, giving her leverage to sit up as his other hand moved to her back as she rolled forward. 

With another flick of her wand, the chair clambered across the room, settling under the healer as she sat. Her light blue eyes sparkled with joy as she looked over the parchment. “Great news so far. You appear in good health, nothing to keep you from conceiving. Your mineral and vitamin levels are perfect for conception. You don’t seem to be suffering from any physical abnormality either; everything is as it should be.” 

“Anything else we need to do?” Hermione finally asked, with the tension in her muscles gone, she was tired and queasy and wanting to get out of here.

“A few more things, sweetie,” Healer Carmen promised. “Now before I check for pregnancy, I am required to ask, are you using any contraception?”

“No,” Severus answered the question.

The Healer looked at him and then back to Hermione, the chipper smile on her face faltering for a moment. “And are you engaging in relations with your husband often?”

“We—” Hermione began.

Severus cut in again, irritation clear in his voice. “We are regular in our martial activities as it fits in with our schedules; beyond that, I don’t see why you need to know what happens in our bedroom.”

The smile thinned on the Healer’s face, and she gave him the expression of a grandmother chiding a child. “Mister Snape, I would like your wife to answ—”

Hermione was the one who cut her off, letting her irritation be clear. “Mister Granger is speaking on my behalf at my request,” she said, and she covered her mouth as her guts churned. “I’m a little anxious about all this, and it's making me nauseous.”

The dismay disappeared in the wake of this news, the bright sparkle back in the Healer’s eyes as she clapped her hands excitedly again, clasping them in front of her chest. “Oh! That could be morning sickness! Why didn’t you say anything? Let’s check for that baby then and ease your mind and your tummy.” 

She drew her wand over Hermione’s midsection, a purple mist falling over her. It felt cold and wet against her skin before it sank below the surface. not helping the desire to empty her innards on this woman. The woman glanced at the parchment expectantly, her wand sliding back and forth as she continued the spell. 

The longer the woman did the spell, the more anxious Hermione began to feel. Surely, if it was negative, it would have been a quick result. She wondered at that moment if Severus had given her something that would have made the spell believe she was pregnant. Her breathing began to pick up, and she squeezed his hand, wishing that she had a way to know what it was making the spell take so long and what he’d given her all at once. What would she do if it came back that she was pregnant, at least for a spell?

Would Severus have done that? 

He’d said the potion had only occurred to him last night; maybe he’d thought of a way to buy them more time between appointments. It seemed plausible, and so now Hermione was trying to determine what she was supposed to do if it came back positive. Should she act happy, angry, or worried?

“Hmm, that’s a pity,” the healer lamented, dropping her wand. Her blue eyes were full of pity as she spoke, a tender frown on her face. “I’m sorry, my dear, no detectable fetus; you aren’t pregnant yet.”

She glanced at Severus, wide-eyed, thinking the potion may not have done what he intended it to do. His expression was still flat, his attention focused on the other witch in the room.

“And you're sure?” Hermione felt herself croak out, trying to parse how she was supposed to be feeling at this moment other than overwhelmed.

“I am,” she consoled, patting Hermione’s knee in sympathy. “I know you must be devastated. Don’t worry, it takes some time, especially with high stress. If I were you, I would do everything you can to remove stress in your life. If your work is too much, I would stop as long as your husband can support that.”

Severus bristled at this; Hermione felt it like she’d felt him prepare to chew out the rude witches in Diagon. “Missus Granger is a full-time university student; she is not working so she can devote her attention fully to her coursework.”

“Oh, honey,” the healer said in a belittling tone masked as concern, her face in a pout. “You can take a break and then try to go back after the baby is in school. It’s not like the school is going anywhere, and I’m sure you could read while the baby sleeps until then to keep your mind sharp.”

“I won’t be doing that, my studies are my priority,” Hermione snapped, shaking her head. “I will not be altering my educational plans for this law or a child.”

The healer leaned her head back, her hand coming to her chest in astonishment, as if Hermione had said something that fundamentally disturbed her. She crossed her leg over the other, the parchment still hovering at her shoulder as she softly imparted information to Hermione. “Well, I would make sure that you are engaging with your husband regularly then, especially if you are tracking your cycles. You shouldn’t be missing any chances when you are in your fertile window; slip in some time between classes so you don’t miss it. The more times you do it, the more chances for your womb to take his seed. I’m sure you’ll have a pregnancy in no time as long as you spend more time in the bedroom and less on the books,” she encouraged, as if her reading was somehow the reason there wasn’t a baby. 

Suddenly, Healer Carman had an expression of insight and reached forward, holding on to Hermione’s other hand and flickering her gaze between the two of them. “Although, I do have a book on the best positions you can use to conceive if you are having difficulties.” 

She fixed her gaze on Hermione, leaning in like she was sharing a secret with her, her voice lowered as if she thought that meant that Severus wouldn’t hear her. “And don’t busy yourself with all that strappy lacy lingerie you young girls try these days to woo your man. They don’t care about the wrapping paper, honey." The older woman flapped her hand down in amusement. "Just get yourself a soft nighty and only wear that to bed. It will work a charm, trust me.” She winked, smirking as she continued. “I wore my old beat-up nighties, and Morris couldn’t keep his hands off of me, and we had three healthy babies in our first five years of marriage.” 

Severus cleared his throat aggressively. “Have you conducted all your required testing?” 

“Yes, but Missus Granger will also need to take this?” Healer Carmen explained, summoning a glass bottle from the cabinet above the sink. 

“What is it?” Hermione questioned as it was shoved into her hand.

The healer beamed at her, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes as all her other ones had. “A fertility potion to help increase your chances of conception.”

Hermione couldn’t put her finger on it, but she didn’t trust for a second that this potion was actually what the woman said it was. She turned to Severus, handing him the bottle with a pleading expression she hoped he understood to mean she didn’t want to take this. “Severus, will you check it? Will it conflict with the prenatals you’ve brewed for me?”

He took one look at the potion, his lip curling in distaste as he turned it in the light. Severus shook his head, holding the potion out to the healer. “We don’t consent to additional alchemical support beyond what is required by the statute. Is this required?”

Healer Carmen sputtered as if she had not prepared for them to resist. “No, but it is recommended.”

Severus shoved the potion back into the healer's hands, his nostrils flaring in obvious irritation. “We decline your recommendation and your unsolicited opinions on my wife’s education and our intimacy schedule. Are we done here?”

She grasped the potion in her hands, and the smile was back, the bright, ten thousand candle one. “Yes, we shall see you in another eight weeks; you will get your appointment reminders. It will be with me, I am your assigned healer.”

“Delightful,” Severus drawled, glancing at Hermione. “Are you ready to depart?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Hermione told him, sliding from the bed to stand next to him, still holding his hand. As soon as her feet were on the ground, he was guiding her toward the door, maneuvering her so that his body was between hers and the healer's.

“Hopefully we have happier news next time,” Healer Carmen said, sending the potion back to the cabinet. “Remember what I said: put the books down, Missus Granger.”

Hermione didn’t say a word back to the healer, her focus now on being anywhere else but there. They went directly to the floo, bypassing the welcome witch. Severus snatched floo powder in his fingers, curling his arm around her to pull her against him as he threw it down and called out the address of home.

The moment they were in the sitting room, Hermione exhaled and let the frustration start to pour out of her. “That old cow! That utter harridan! ‘Oh, honey,' like I am an idiot for going to university. As if going to school isn’t important for a career and a future! She is a healer, for Merlin’s sake, did she just decide one day to be one, or did she have to get educated?"

“She woke up fully educated on the complex study of mediwizardry, obviously,” Severus grumbled as he let her go, unbuttoning his coat and walking it to the coat closet. 

“And going on about how I need to ‘engage’ with you every moment I can. Does she expect that everyone is spending their whole day shagging their spouse? And the whispering about nighties as if you were not there? It was like she was trying to purposely make me uncomfortable,” Hermione ranted, pulling off her shoes. 

“It did feel pointed,” Severus agreed, undoing his frock coat with a spell that released all his buttons at once. He sent it upstairs with a flick of his wand, leaving him in his shirtsleeves as he focused on his shoes. “At least you kept the potion down. Has it settled?”

“What did you give me?” She stood up straight, her hand on her hip as she remembered that he’d not told her what she’d taken.

“It was a prenatal that was high potency so that when they did their scans, it would appear as if you'd been on it for a sustained time. They are less likely to suspect we are evading if I am taking the time to brew it for you." Severus explained, sitting on her desk chair and pulling one of his dragonhide boots off.

“That was clever of you. I wondered what she meant by my vitamins and minerals being perfect for conception. I thought it was going to make the scan show a positive pregnancy; I had no idea how to react to her doing the scan,” Hermione told him, pushing her fingers through her hair at her temples. “I thought for a moment I was going to have to pretend to be fake pregnant.”

“That was by design,” Severus confessed. “I had hoped you would think it might skew the scan so that she would believe you were concerned that it was a possibility you were pregnant.”

While they were on the topic of being given things, she desperately wanted to know what it was that she’d tried to get her to take and why it had made Severus make that expression. “What was she trying to give me?”

“A fertility potion,” Severus replied, as he removed his other shoe. “But I suspect, due to the discoloration, it was also mixed with a lust potion, if not something else to encourage you to intimacy.”

She groaned, thankful that Severus had gone with her to the appointment. While she would have refused to have taken it anyways, she knew that it was infinitely harder to argue with them both. “I had a feeling it wasn’t what she was saying. It was in the way her smile was different,” Hermione theorized, wondering why the woman would have recommended the potion. Was it her or the Ministry recommending it? Hermione thought it was the former, as the witch seemed to have a disdain for her education and how she didn’t seem as enthused about a pregnancy. Perhaps she had concluded that they weren’t complying. “Do you think she believes we are sleeping together?”

“She did not appear completely convinced,” Severus observed, putting his boots in the closet. “She was more convinced, I believe, when you asked her if she was sure you weren’t pregnant but less so when we were both adamant about your education. There may still be doubts in her mind, which is why she tried to give you that potion.”

“Thank you for going with me, even though I know that must have been uncomfortable for you,” Hermione thanked him. She knew it was uncomfortable for her, and she couldn’t imagine that he was any happier about being there while the woman examined her. And even more so when the woman started going on about how she didn’t need lingerie for him. Merlin, Hermione dreaded to think how much more the woman would have talked if Severus hadn’t been there. She suddenly had the idea of archaic diagrams and physical instruction. “I think your behavior made her ask fewer questions and talk less overall, if you can imagine it.”

He grimaced at her statement, and she knew he was imagining it. “I assumed if I took on the role of an overbearing husband, it would pressure her to work quickly and usher us out of there. I will continue to do so to ensure your comfort at these appointments. Do you still feel nauseated?”

Fortunately, since they’d arrived home, her stomach had decided that she was safe and that the contents of her stomach weren’t a weighty cargo to jettison into the world.

“It has gone away now that we are home,” she responded. Her eyes fell on the wall calendar that she had above her desk, and it reminded her that this was not a one-and-done situation; it was going to be something she would have to deal with for the foreseeable future. Now that she knew what to expect, maybe she wouldn’t be as nervous, but she knew she was going to be just as irritated. “I just know that we shall have to be more convincing in eight weeks, and that if you are going to give me another of those potions, I have to either eat more or nothing.”

“Perhaps we will have a solution in that time,” Severus reasoned thoughtfully.

Hermione wasn’t sure, with how every attempt and avenue she had thought to have tried so far had gone nowhere, and she knew that his attempts had been equally fruitless. If they didn’t have a solution in eight weeks, would they be able to convince Healer Carmen that they were, in fact, trying? 

Hermione didn’t think so. 

While Hermione was absolutely against the idea of getting pregnant, especially being forced to do so, the idea of being with Severus wasn’t as unappealing as it had been when they were thrown together into this. She was sure it wasn’t just the forced proximity that had changed her stance on that. She’d gotten to know Severus as a person and seen parts of him she was certain the rest of the world never had. He’d taken her affection and not spat it back at her too, and there had even been moments where she’d thought he wanted it. 

Her mind was drawn back to the night she’d perched herself on his lap as if she belonged there, and instead of rebuking her, he had drawn her in when she made to get up for him to write to Millicent. He’d told her, plainly, that he wanted her right there if she wanted to be there. And Hermione had wanted to be there; she’d wanted to be close to him. She felt herself drawn to him a little more each day, the warm affection in her having blossomed into something a little more than a crush. If she were honest with herself, she wasn’t opposed at all to the idea of being romantically involved with him now. She wouldn’t push him away if he made any inclination that he was interested in the same thing as well. 

And if they weren’t able to find a solution, such a relationship would benefit them too. “If not, we are going to have to make progress elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” he asked, glancing at her with confusion.

“We’ve not kissed since the wedding,” she hinted, hoping he would catch her meaning, that he would understand that she was trying to tell him that she might be interested in exploring more with him. 

“If you call that a kiss, then I am sorry for you and Mister Krum’s exploits,” he teased, smiling at her as he crossed over to where she was standing. “It was hardly more than a second of contact.”

“You know what I mean,” she defended even as she was unable to stop herself from smiling at his teasing. “We’ve not exactly made any progress toward resolving the law or toward…” she paused, searching for the words. “…the required intimacy.”

Severus’ smile disappeared instantly, his eyes widened for a moment, and then he narrowed them, glancing away from her. His focus was on the fireplace past her shoulder, and he drew in a deep breath before fixing her with a more relaxed but no less serious stare.

“We are on no one’s timeline but our own, and I will not have you feeling pressured over the nagging of a moronic healer, or the Ministry requirement, or by me.” Severus took a step back, as if he were giving her distance. “I gave you my word, Hermione; I will not be forcing that upon you, no matter how desperate our straits. I will go to Azkaban before I am forced into taking that kind of advantage.”

His sudden demeanor change made her realize she’d not chosen the right way to approach this, and she frowned, huffing at him. “That—that wasn’t what I meant, Severus. I don’t feel pressured. I feel like I am not making myself clear.”

“I am listening, help me understand." Severus’ voice was softer, almost as if he were concerned that if he were louder, it would upset her.

Hermione stepped toward him, removing the space he’d put between them as she gathered her courage. “You’ve not tried to kiss me, even though we are becoming closer with each other.”

“I don’t make it a habit to kiss women unless they make it perfectly clear they want me to," Severus explained himself, his eyebrows arching as he seemed to search her expression.

It wasn’t a no. 

It wasn’t a 'because I don’t want to kiss you.'

It was an 'I won’t without your permission.’

She thought about the past several weeks and immediately realized that, although they had grown closer, he was not making any moves toward her. He never had, he’d merely welcomed her inching closer to him. It was her sitting in his lap that made him draw her into his embrace; it was her leaning against him on the sofa that made him adjust to accommodate her. 

“And if I did, would you want to kiss me?” she breathed out, stepping so that they were so close she could feel the heat radiating off of his body.

She watched as a pink flush crept up his throat, and he swallowed. His words came out like he wasn’t sure what answer he would get. “Do you want me to kiss you, Hermione?”

“Yes,” she breathed out, placing her hands against his chest. Her heart was thundering in her ears, beating through her bones in a tempo that reinforced her words. She wanted to know what a real kiss from Severus was like. “I would like you to kiss me, a real kiss.”

His fingers slipped up the outside of her arms and over her shoulders, one hand slipping behind her neck, cupping it gently as he leaned down toward her. His other hand caressed her face, tilting her jaw as his lips gently pressed against her. He kissed her like he was afraid she was going to pull away at any moment.

Her hands crept up over his shoulders, lacing her fingers behind his neck as she kissed him back, tucking her nose against his. Closing her eyes, she parted her lips as a sigh of pleasure escaped her. The sound must have emboldened him, his lips pressing firmly into hers as his hand curled into her hair. The sound of her thundering heart was immediately accompanied by the strong flutter in her stomach that morphed from affection to desire.

She had no idea how long that kiss lasted; all she knew is that she felt bereft when his lips left her, the distance between them too great as he peered down at her. His hands stayed where they were as he stared at her as if he didn’t believe she were real.

For a moment, Hermione wasn’t sure if she was real either. “That was a kiss, for sure,” she hummed, keeping him from moving farther back from her.

His cheeks rounded as a tender smile snuck on to his lips. “I am pleased it has met your hopes.”

“Not all my hopes,” Hermione purred, rubbing her thumb along the back of his neck, where she could feel his spine. “My hopes are for more kisses like that.”

“More kisses, you say?" His voice vibrated through her, the hand in her hair sliding down her back. Before she could reply, he was kissing her again, this time with insistence and fervor.

She gasped against his lips, pulling him toward her, and he took that moment to sweep his tongue between her lips. Hermione sucked on the tip of his tongue, drawing it into her mouth as she released the back of his neck to grip the back of his head. Her other hand wrapped around his waist, holding him flush to her.

Who moved first, she couldn’t have told anyone, not even under veritaserum, but they did move from where they were standing in the center of the sitting room to the sofa. Severus fell backwards into it, pulling her down into his arms and on to his chest, their lips barely breaking contact. She held his face in her hands as she kissed him deeply, slipping her tongue into his mouth against his as he groaned under her. 

His hands held her by the waist, fingertips curling into her skin, making her feel encompassed and possessed by him in a way she had never felt before from anyone else she’d ever kissed. Her sense of time seemed to dilate, and she felt as if she’d been there for a lifetime, and yet it wasn’t enough as he broke from her lips. Severus laid there for a moment, gazing at her with a happiness that filled his eyes in a way she had never seen before, as he pushed some of her hair from her face. 

“Was that sufficient for your hopes, for now?” he asked, his voice full of laughter.

Hermione would have killed the Minister, and the entire Ministry to hear him speak like that again, with a lightness that softened every hard edge she’d ever known him to have.

“For now,” she purred, shifting to rest her head against his chest. “But be assured, I will want more of this.”

His fingers trailed against her scalp through her hair gently, a pleased hum vibrating through him and therefore through her. “I want that too.”

He shifted under her, sliding so that his head was against the armrest and their legs were no longer half over the other arm of the chair, his other hand wrapping around her to keep her from sliding off the sofa.

“Are you comfortable?” Hermione breathed out, shifting with him. She didn’t want to move, but she didn’t want him to be trapped or in pain.

The arm around her tightened. “If you move, I shan't kiss you again today.”

“Only today." She lifted her head from his shoulder, grinning at him.

He was still smiling, a smile she’d never seen, one that screamed contentment. “Need I make it longer and punish us both?”

“No.” Hermione stretched her neck and placed a soft kiss against his lips.

Severus cupped the back of her head and pressed into her kiss more firmly before he released her, laying his head back against the armrest. “I am comfortable as long as you are right here.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Running her finger back and forth over the raised woodgrain of the table was a soothing distraction for the apprehension that had taken up residence in her mind since they’d arrived at the restaurant. It wasn’t that Hermione didn’t want to be there; it was that she didn’t know what to expect. She’d not really interacted with Millicent in almost five years, and even then it was barely an acknowledgement in the weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. 

They’d seen each other, of course, especially at Ron’s wedding to her, but they hadn’t actually talked. Now, faced with the prospect of it, Hermione wasn’t sure they would have anything to talk about. She knew almost nothing about what the other woman had done since Hogwarts, the thought to check up on it never occurring to her. Part of her worried that Millie, who Hermione only knew preferred to be called Millie because of the wedding, would hold that against her and be resistant to the olive branch she was offering. 

Her eyes roved the restaurant, scanning the door every time it opened for a sign of their expected dinner guest. Severus had chosen the venue, saying that it would suit better to meet her somewhere not posh. It was an off-the-beaten-path muggle tavern-style restaurant, with functional benches and dark plank-topped tables. White plaster walls with dark wood accents that matched the tables were punctuated by aged brass-framed photos of hunting dogs, men on horseback, and the occasional hunting lodge. They’d secured a table in the corner in front of an amber-colored window that seemed to enhance the dark atmosphere of the place rather than illuminate it. 

Severus had sat with his back against the wall, claiming he wanted a clear line of sight of both the door and the kitchen, and she’d decided to sit in the corner on the same bench as him, giving her nearly the same view of the front door. She’d idly grazed over the menu, knowing immediately that she wanted the cottage pie but needing something to make it look like she wasn’t wholly focused on waiting. The door opened, Hermione’s eyes lifting from the options up to see Millicent walk in. 

While in school, Millie had been called podgy and stout, but the same could not be said for her now. She cut her way through the place, muscular, broad-shouldered, and tall, dressed in a three-piece black suit. The blazer was unbuttoned, revealing a waistcoat that was obviously tailored to accommodate the unmistakable bump of pregnancy while still showing that she was built like a brick shithouse. Her thin black tie made her appear impossibly wider, creating an intimidating presence Hermione could feel from here. Her expression was a flat, determined line, her eyes focused on her destination, and she walked like a woman on a mission. She didn’t walk like she belonged there; she walked like she was daring anyone to challenge that she didn’t. She reminded Hermione of a bulldog, but not the wrinkly, cuddly sort. Millie’s black hair was pulled into a ponytail, her bangs curling just above her eyebrows, and yet this gave her a more serious appearance.

As she came up to the table, Severus stood from his seat, extending his wand hand toward her. “Missus Weasley, thank you for joining us.”

It was this proximity that reinforced to Hermione that Millicent was not just large, but brawny. Whatever the woman had been doing, it had given her the physique of a body builder. Hermione could not help but mentally compare her to the female wrestler ‘Chyna’ that Dean Thomas had plastered all over his bedroom walls the one time she went to a party at his house. She knew at once that she’d been lucky that Millicent hadn’t been built like this when they were in school, or else she would have never stood a chance the few times they had clashed.

“If the invitation had come from anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered. It is good to see you, sir,” she remarked, taking his extended hand in a firm shake. “The years look as if they have been good to you.”

“Some of them have, and you may address me as Severus,” he offered, gesturing for her to sit.

"If I can call you Severus, then you can drop the Missus bullshit and call me Millie.” She glanced at the table and then swept her eyes around the room before sitting on the other side of Hermione, her back to the other wall of the corner booth. “Deal?” 

“A deal, Millie,” Severus agreed and then gestured toward Hermione. “You obviously know my wife.”

It was only then that Millicent’s intense gaze fell on her, dark eyes scanning down her body, seemingly sizing her up before snapping her eyes up to hold her gaze, coldly acknowledging her. “Granger.”

Nothing about this interaction made Hermione feel like this was off to a great start, but that wasn’t going to stop her from doing what she felt was the right thing and give the other woman a pleasant smile as she greeted her. “It is nice to see you, Millie.”

“I didn’t give you permission to call me that,” Millie corrected curtly, still eyeing her suspiciously.

Definitely not off to a great start. Hermione wasn’t sure what she’d done to offend the other woman, but it was obvious that she wasn’t pleased to see her.

“Would you prefer Milicent then?” Hermione questioned, trying to not show how unnerved she was by the intensely negative response she was getting to what she considered a polite greeting.

“I would prefer to know what it is you want from me, Granger,” she demanded, gesturing toward Severus without glancing at him. “He doesn't invite people out to dinner because of his generous and magnanimous nature. This is obviously you pulling his strings.”

Severus cleared his throat, interjecting before she could respond. “Hermione may have made the suggestion to invite you to join us for dinner, but I was the one who decided it was a worthy endeavor.”

The dark-haired woman didn’t look like she believed him, her attention immediately zeroed back in on Hermione. “This is about your boyfriend, isn’t it?”

“My boyfriend?” she sputtered in confusion.

“Your boyfriend, my husband, same hippogriff, different name,” Mille asserted with a dismissive, almost bored wave of her hand.

Hermione shook her head, her jaw slackening as she gathered her words in the wake of Millie’s statement. She and Ron had clearly not been dating since the year after the war, and surely Millicent had to know that, especially since she was married to him. “Ron is not my boyfriend and has not been for years; I’m sure you heard about our very public breakup.”

“Could have fooled me. If this is about having him back, he’s yours,” she shrugged, leaning back against the white wall and tapping her pregnant belly gently. “I have what I need from him.”

Maybe that was why Millicent was so combative; maybe she thought that there was some sort of resentment on Hermione’s part over how the matches had panned out. Maybe Ron had even said as much to her. Hermione made it her mission to make it as clear as possible that she had no hard feelings or lingering desire for Ron. “No, I don’t want Ron back. I’m content where I am.”

She snorted, the first break of anything other than disdain in Hermione’s direction on her face. “I’m sure you are, always were a bit of a teacher’s pet.”

“Milicent,” Severus rumbled in a low register, an obvious warning. “I will not tolerate the line of insults your commentary is leading down. To continue would insult me greatly. Hermione is my wife; I implore you to offer her respect, if not for who she is, then at least on my behalf.”

Her attention shifted to him, espresso-brown eyes narrowing slightly as she raised one eyebrow skeptically. “You ask a lot for someone who has shown up out of the blue after five years of no contact,” Millie accused, folding her hands, one over the other, on top of the swell of her stomach.

“I do,” he agreed, inclining his head in her direction before he tilted it to the side, regarding her with smug curiosity. “Is it too great an ask from the scion of the proud house of Bulstrode?”

Hermione suddenly felt as if she were sitting between two people speaking a different language than the words she was hearing. There was a double meaning there that she didn’t comprehend, and it was clear in the way that Millie’s expression lost some of its edge, the sharp lines around her eyes fading as her eyebrow leveled out. 

The waiter came at that moment and took their drink order, even while Millicent and Severus seemed locked in some nonverbal peace talk.

“It isn’t too much, but she still didn’t answer me,” Millie responded after a moment, shifting her body slightly toward Hermione. “Why did you want to invite me out to dinner?”

The words didn’t have the same bite of accusation and disdain, but they were also not any friendlier either. It was a step in the right direction and toward this dinner not becoming a complete disaster. Drawing in a breath, Hermione sat up a little straighter, explaining her reasoning. “I found out about your circumstances; that Ron had left you alone and pregnant, wasn’t communicating with you, and thought that we should reach out to you.”

“He’s got you pregnant yet?” Millie asked abruptly, her eyes flickering toward Severus and then back to her suspiciously. 

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good,” Millie sighed in relief, “because I have no intention of forming whatever sort of mommy group you have in mind.”

“Mommy group?” she protested in confusion. “I don’t want to start a mommy group. I wanted to check in on you because Ron abandoned you. I know what that is like, and I don't think it is fair to you, especially since you are pregnant with his child. It’s irresponsible, but more importantly, cruel of him.”

“Ron left because I wanted him to,” Millie declared, crossing her arms over her chest as her expression soured again. “I'm not some waffling little housewife sitting by a window waiting for your man to come home.”

She’d made it clear to Ron in the bookshop that she wasn’t interested in him, and she didn’t know what he’d done to make Millie this insistent that Hermione wanted him back. “He isn’t my man,” Hermione contested hotly, feeling irritated that the other woman would not let that assumption drop. She took her drink gratefully from the waiter, curling her fingers around the cold glass in an attempt to calm herself. 

“He sure as hell called your name while putting this sprog in me,” Millie pointed out sharply, her attention broken as Severus choked on his drink at her statement. She glanced at him with a quick assessment of concern before turning back to Hermione. “So you may not think he is your man, but he does.”

Hermione stared at her in speechless horror. 

How could Ron be so callous and cruel?

She didn’t think for a second that it had been an accident, not with how Ron had acted when Hermione had asked about Millie in the bookstore. He’d been disrespectful then, calling his pregnant wife a troll as he tried to convince her to challenge the law with him so that they could be together.

She could not imagine how insulted Millie had been in that moment or how embarrassed and angry that must have made her. Her heart ached, imagining herself in that position and understanding immediately why Millie was not happy to see her. It was no wonder she was taking it out on her. Just hearing about it made Hermione both furious and apologetic all at once. “Oh my, Merlin, I am so sorry he did that to you, Millie.”

“Not angry?” Millie prodded, her eyebrows furrowed down over her eyes. “Not in knots over the fact that you aren’t in my shoes and carrying the next red-haired menace?”

“Truly, I am sorry. I am horrified on your behalf, but I am not jealous, nor do I wish I were in your shoes,” Hermione explained, shaking her head as she thought about what she’d like to do to Ron. Suddenly, hitting him didn’t seem like it was a severe enough response to his pigheaded and cruel behaviour. The mere idea of Ron revolted her at this moment, and she considered that she had lucked out exponentially in being matched to Severus, even if it hadn’t seemed like it at first. “I have no interest in swapping spouses with you.”

“Are you insane?” Millie shuddered, revulsion twisting her features as anger colored her tone. “I wouldn’t swap you even if you were, even if we could! The man you’ve married was practically my father for seven years. Think what you want about me and my family, but I’m not incestuous!”

She began to backpedal, not having meant that she thought Millie wanted Severus. “I didn’t mean—”

“How is your writing coming, Millie?” Severus interrupted, setting his napkin down from wiping his face.

“Oh, uh.” She shook her head, seemingly disarmed by his question. Her eyes dropped in what Hermione interpreted to be disappointment before the expression was gone behind a mask of calm collection. “I haven’t really had time as of late, with the pregnancy and everything going on.”

“Shame,” Severus tutted, “you were rather talented, if I remember correctly.”

“Eh,” she dismissed him with a shake of her head and an eyeroll. “You had the rubbish years; my work is more character-driven now, and I definitely show instead of loudly telling across the page.”

It took Hermione a moment to comprehend that, first of all, Millicent was some manner of writer and, secondly, that she’d allowed Severus to read it at some point while she was a student. Her whole imagined view of Slytherin House turned on its head in a single moment, realizing that Severus would have been to his students what Minerva had been to them. This was not something she would have expected and she would have to think more on it in the future, but it was fascinating to know that there was a different unknown side to the woman she’d only ever met on a surface level. Hermione was instantly seized by her curious desire to know more. “You write?”

“I am literate, yes.” Millie gave a sharp tchs of her tongue against her teeth in irritated distaste.

Hermione rubbed her forehead, trying to quell her instant frustration at being purposefully misunderstood. “I was asking if you write, as in novels?”

“What is it to you?” Millie challenged, chin up and defiant, as she stared accusingly at Hermione. “Do you think there is something unworthy in fiction? Is it not cerebral enough when compared to your textbooks?”

It was obvious bait for an argument, but Hermione wasn’t going to take it, too excited to learn about what Milicent wrote about. “I think it’s incredible. I’ve never had the patience to work on fiction, even in primary school. What sort of stories do you write? Have you ever published?” Hermione stopped immediately thinking about all the nights sitting with Severus as he typed at his desk. “Did you know that Severus is writing a book as well?”

“Are you?” Millie immediately shot him a look of interest.

Severus gave Hermione a thin-lipped frown before meeting the other woman’s gaze. “I am not.”

“But you are at the typewriter—"

He did not let her finish, correcting her. “I am writing a compendium of potion corrections to the current potion curriculum."

“That fits the vision of you better,” Milicent hummed in amusement, pausing to drink from her own glass. “I was worried for a second that you’d started some kind of spy-fi novel.”

Before Severus could respond, the waiter arrived, politely interrupting. “Can I get your order?”

Millie flipped the menu over, pointing to it as she spoke, her tone warmer than it had been the whole time she’d been here. “This steak, as rare as you can get it with it still being warm. I want the lentils instead of a potato, and do not let those carrots touch my plate at all, understand? If I even smell cooked carrots near my steak, we will have an issue. I also will need another glass of water and keep it filled.”

He wrote it down, as well as taking Severus’ order of bangers and mash and her own cottage pie order. Hermione considered asking if Millie was eating a rare steak because she liked it, or if it was because she was low on iron because of the baby. She thought better of it, considering that Millie might take offense to her commenting on her food. It would be easily taken as a slight, and it would turn the conversation right back to the start. 

Before Hermione could think of a reasonable conversation topic to launch into, Millie broke the lull with her own question for Hermione after she finished draining her glass of water. “So, what did Ron tell you to make you think that he’d abandoned me?”

“It was Mister Potter that brought it to my attention, Millie,” Severus answered.

“Potter came to you about me? Why?” Milicent’s dark eyes widened, a look of confusion and disbelief ghosting over her features. It was gone almost as quickly as it came, a sly smirk curving her lips. “Did he get tired of having his brother-in-law cock blocking him every chance he could?”

“Not precisely,” he denied, resting his hands on the table in front of him. “He came to me to check on Hermione’s safety while living with me; it seems Mister Weasley made some colorful accusations, but you came up in conversation.”

Millie blinked, and Hermione watched the smirk falter for a second. If she’d not been watching her, she would have missed it, because it was immediately replaced with the same expression. “It is always nice to know you are the perpetual afterthought. So what did four-eyes say about me?”

“That Weasley was rather craven in his dealings with you,” Severus told her, his expression dark with deep lines appearing between his eyebrows. “As you can imagine, I was not thrilled to hear that you were being treated this way, especially by Weasley. I was informed that he is refusing to speak to you, has left you alone in an unfamiliar house, and had told you once you were pregnant to ‘sod off’.”

“What of it?” Millie shrugged. “This babe didn’t happen because we are in love or anything,” she muttered, her eyes falling to her stomach as she slid her hand over the round of her belly. “Just complying with the law like you two.”

“But it is rather unfair of him to leave you in this state, on your own," Severus countered, his tone a mix of compassion and anger. 

“I don’t need him. I’ve managed well on my own well before him and will after,” she declared, her hands falling away from her stomach to press against her legs. She frowned in deep disgust. “Once this baby is out, he is going to take it and give it to his mother; he’s already told me that. Then I can get back to work, and it won’t matter anyway."

Hermione slammed her hands against the table, opening her mouth to speak, but Severus silenced her with a lift of his finger in front of her. His black eyes were just as angry as they had been the day that they were forced to get married as he spoke. “He wants to take your child and give it to his mother. He has just decided this for you?”

“Yeah,” Millie glanced toward the door, pushing her fingers through her bangs before she returned his gaze. Her tone was flat and her face was emotionless, almost dismissive of Severus’ fury. “He said something about not wanting it to grow up like I did. How his family was going to keep his baby away from the dark side.”

“Millie,” he breathed out, and Hermione recognized the sympathy in it.

Her expression sharpened and she pointed at him aggressively. “Don’t look at me like that, Snap—Granger.” Millie huffed in frustration and then snorted. “Oi, that is a mindfuck. How good did she shag you to get you to give up your name?”

Hermione rubbed the spot between her eyes, inhaling deeply. “That’s not—”

“Granger, listen—” She leaned on her forearm against the table, gesturing with the other hand. "—A man gives up something that important for only two reasons: he is running away from something, or a woman has him by the balls, either pleasurably or painfully. Severus isn’t the sort to run away, so that leaves the latter, and I doubt you have enough on him to make it a painful vice you’ve got him in.”

“Actually,” Hermione corrected her sharply, “he did it to protect me from having to give up my name.” 

The wind in Millie’s sails seemed to stall as she let her arm drop against the table. “Oh.”

“To ensure that the university didn’t try to disenroll her,” Severus added with a smug expression.

“Well, good for you, Granger,” she exhaled, reaching for the new glass of water the waiter brought to the table for her.

“Millie, how is Mister Weasley evading detection from sleeping under the same roof as you?” Severus questioned, steepling his fingers together in front of his lips. 

She paused while drinking from her glass. “Huh?”

“The law requires that he sleeps under the same roof as you until your child is born,” Severus explained thoughtfully. “How is he evading detection?”

“We don’t count,” she said plainly. “They are only watching the important couples. One of the idiots in the marriage department told him at a Quidditch match that he didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble as long as he squirted a spawn into me.”

Hermione looked up at Severus just as he turned to glance down at her. 

They were only watching the important couples.

Immediately she thought of all the speeches the Minister had given about how it would be fair to everyone, everyone with the same requirements and restrictions. She hadn’t believed it to be true for a moment, but knowing it wasn’t meant it was likely there were other parts of the law that were also not being upheld equally. Maybe this was their breakthrough; this was the thing that would lead them to a way to make the law null and void.

Severus’ eyes had the same intense thoughtfulness that she felt, and Hermione knew that he was thinking the same thing.

“You two are looking at each other like I just told you something important." Millie cleared her throat. “I assume that means they are monitoring you two. Makes sense; they expect something special out of you. They just want more Weasleys out of me. Like we ain't got enough out of them,” she groused, rolling her eyes. “You’d think they wanted to reintroduce red hair to every family line.”

They sat there in a heavy silence. Hermione was trying to process this new information, seeking angles that would help them. After a moment, she realized that both she and Severus had withdrawn and the conversation had stalled. They would have time to think this over tonight, she didn’t want the other woman to feel left out.

She thought about what else had been said, something to start a conversation back up. “Millie, what is it that you do? You said you wanted to get back to work.”

“Well,” she drawled sarcastically. “After the war, some of us had to get real jobs instead of flouncing around the perpetual study hall of Ravensdorm University.”

“You speak as if you didn’t go through intensive training for your own position," Severus jumped in, shifting his gaze from Millie to Hermione with an expression that was almost full of pride. "Millie is a Hitwizard.”

“One of the best damn ones the Ministry has too,” she announced proudly, shoulders back and chin up. “No escapes, no evades, and I have yet to miss a mark. I’ve put more dark practitioners and criminals in prison than you have.”

“Oh, wow,” Hermione gasped, realizing that this explained why Millicent was in the shape that she was. Hitwizards were, to her knowledge, the few that would hunt down the most wanted of the Ministry. It didn’t matter if they were hiding among muggles, in the wilds, or in wizarding society; if a Hitwizard was after them, there was little to stop them from being caught. Much like muggle bounty hunters, they were allowed to use whatever force was necessary, and sometimes, that meant a brawl that was half-fistfight and half-duel. She was sure there was more to it, but it had never been something she looked into deeply. “That is a very physical and hard job.”

"Well, it wasn’t like I was gonna get by on my looks,” Millie snorted derisively. 

“I was complimenting you,” Hermione groaned, leaning her head back for a moment. “That is not something I could do on my best days, nor would I want to.”

“You wouldn’t last if you did,” she laughed, closing her hand into a fist and gesturing it toward her own face. “One of these fuckers would hit you and you’d forget your name, and be seeing stars for a week. They will do anything to evade capture, and you have to be tough and smart to catch them.” There was joy in the undertone of Millie’s voice and her eyes lit up in excitement. It was the first Hermione had seen of something that looked like happiness on her face.

“Do you enjoy it?” Hermione asked eagerly, leaning against the table as well.

“I’m good at it, and I get back what I give to it, more than I can say for other jobs,” she replied, shrugging even as a small smile made her cheeks lift. “I get the respect I am due, and the guys know not to fuck with me.”

“Is that a yes?” she pressed, grinning brightly. 

“Yes. Why do you care?” Millie’s tone flattened and she sat up against the wall again, searching Hermione’s face.

Hermione leaned back too, wondering why Millie had pulled back so sharply when she was finally relaxing. “I am trying to make conversation.”

“What do you want from me, Granger?” Millie demanded, one hand over her stomach as the other pressed into the table, her thumb curling under the edge as she gripped it. “Cut the bullshit and say it out loud, because honestly, your ulterior motive is so visible we could pull a seat up for it at the fucking table.” She whipped her hand away from the table violently, gesturing to the other side of the table as she raised her voice.

“I—” Hermione stuttered, thrown off by the explosive response. For a moment, Hermione thought they were finding a connection, but now it was as if she’d offended Millie somehow. “I am trying to get to know you, maybe eventually befriend you. I don’t want anything from you.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Millie snapped, shaking her head as her jaw tightened. “No one wants to get to know me unless they want something.”

Severus let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the wall and holding his hands out in surrender. “Millie, very well, you’ve caught us.”

“Severus?” Hermione snapped her attention toward him in confusion.

He met her gaze, holding it as he firmly spoke. “There seems to be no point in denying that we do want something from her, Hermione.”

Hermione was confused, staring at him as if he’d left her out of a crucial conversation. They had not discussed that they needed anything from her. It had been them wanting to extend support and ensure she didn’t think she was alone.

“At least he has the balls to come out and say it.” Millie's shoulders relaxed, gesturing toward Severus. “So what is it? Do you need someone hurt? Because you will have to wait at least six months before I am back in peak form to thoroughly trounce someone.”

“If I needed someone hurt, I would handle it myself,” Severus countered, fixing her with a serious stare. “We need your help with something more delicate, and you are someone I believe in who is up to the task. You’ve proven in the past that you are willing to do what needs to be done when no one else will.”

Millie’s eyes brightened as she leaned forward slightly, staring back at him. “Yeah, that’s me, so what do you need?”

The energy at the table changed, became charged with excitement and Hermione watched the exchange with confusion as Severus continued, “Hermione and I are still fighting the law, and we intend to take it down from the inside.” He paused, eyes roaming around the restaurant before glancing back at Millie. “But as you can imagine, we are being heavily watched and our every movement is being tracked by the Ministry and the press. We need someone to draw the attention away, give us the needed cover to do what we must.”

“I’m listening,” she urged him to tell her more.

“Your situation presents us with a unique opportunity. As you know, your assigned husband is something of a media darling, a war hero of esteem, who is perceived to have a strong moral character and being loyal to a fault,” he explained, listing Ron’s traits off with an underlying tone of disdain.

Millicent snorted, rolling her eyes. “You mean he stuck around long enough with the right people to be brought up with them.”

Hermione wanted to interject that she happened to be one of those people, but at the same time, she wanted to know where Severus was going with this and didn’t dare derail him.

"Precisely," Severus agreed, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. ‘What Hermione and I need from you is not something we ask lightly. We were concerned that it would hurt your pride, which is why we have been so casual so far.” He paused and then gestured toward her pregnant stomach. “We want to publicly paint your situation in a compassionate, pitiable light. Let the public know how deplorably he’s treated you, how much you’ve suffered, how much he is not the man they believed him to be.”

A wide grin broke across Millie’s face as understanding crossed her features. “The only thing the media loves more than a triumphant hero is a hero fallen from grace. You want to plaster that he abandoned his wife and child to cause a ruckus to take the heat off of your little plot.”

“You’ve always been more clever than anyone has given you credit for,” Severus praised, inclining his head in agreement.

Where did this come from? Hermione thought to herself. It was a brilliant way to get the attention off of them, but unless he’d come up with something at this table, they still didn’t have a plan that needed obscuring. An overwhelming sense of awe overcame her as she understood that she was witnessing the genius that had come from decades thinking on his feet at work.

“So what, you want me to start crying in the street?” Millie questioned, a touch of her previous suspicion returning. 

“No, I wouldn’t ask that of you." Severus shook his head before gesturing toward Hermione and then himself. “But we would like you to accompany us into Diagon a few times. It would serve our goal if you were looking a little more bereft about Ron’s absence, a little more uncomfortable with your present condition. Let us take you around to shops, purchase some things you will need for your coming infant, and appear as if we are going to great lengths to help and support you.” Severus placed his hand on his chest, lifting his chin nobly. “I will, of course, convey the reason that we are accompanying you, rather than your scoundrel of a husband, with a mix of discretion and details. Everyone will know he had abandoned you at the first opportunity, having found some likely illegal and nefarious way to circumvent the law. In doing so, he has left you all alone to deal with all the terrible symptoms of the pregnancy, and it hasn’t been an easy one so far.”

“You want them to pity me and to hoist him up on his own petard." Millie was beaming, leaning back with an impressed expression on his face. “The press will eat him alive for it.”

“Yes, they will. Can you think of a more fitting revenge for the man who has impregnated you and left you alone to deal with it while in the same breath saying he is going to return only once you’ve given birth to take your child from you?” Severus asked her, his voice dropping to an octave that made him sound dangerous. “Can you think of a more fitting punishment for him treating  you like a broodmare, than to watch all the love and adulation he has received over the years crumble to dust in his hands? Surely you’ve thought about it. Thought about what it would be like to watch him suffer as he has made you suffer in this situation that you didn’t ask for.”

Millie nodded along with his words, her eyes lowering to the table in thought. “And if it backfires, and I get cast as the villain? Do you have a plan?"

Hermione looked at him with raised eyebrows, wondering too if he had a plan for that. 

He smiled, shifting in his seat so that his body was directed toward Hermione, gesturing toward her as if she were a secret weapon in this endeavor. “That is why my wife is going to befriend you, obviously. What a better spokesperson to the merit of your character than Hermione Granger,  champion of the downtrodden. She is going to make sure that everyone knows why we are helping you. That as much as you’ve never been close, she had to help you, witch to witch, when she found out the state you’d been left in.”

Hermione leaned back against the wall, staring at him in wonder as he elaborated on this brand new to her role she was going to play. 

“It will be an unexpected friendship to everyone, but it will be clear you bonded over the experience of being abandoned by Weasley, and discovered you had a lot more in common than meets the eye. My wife will impress upon anyone who asks how you aren’t so different from each other.” Severus paused to gesture between the two of them. “Both of you are young career-driven witches, trapped in this unjust law, to husbands you did not expect. The only difference is that yours turned out to be a runaway husband, and now you are just trying to ensure that your child has the best chance in this life, because it didn’t ask for any of this either.”

“Why didn’t you just come out with this? I’m not a skittish Hufflepuff going to run away at the first sign of discomfort,” she asked, still smiling. “We could have skipped the whole getting to know you bit.”

“In truth, because you are right,” Severus admitted, a contrite expression on his face. “I have been out of contact for more than five years. I wasn’t sure if you had changed, if the world had managed to break you, or if you’d even think of helping your old head of house when you have your own concerns.”

“It will take more than a forced marriage and a few years as a hitwizard to break me,” Millie laughed loud. 

“For this, I am relieved,” Severus chuckled before holding her gaze. “Does this mean I can count on you—that we can count on you?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, reaching her hand across the table to him. “You let me know where I need to be and when I need to be there, and I will be the most miserable-looking pregnant woman you have ever seen.”

“I look forward to watching the Prophet tear Ronald apart.” Severus shook her hand, smirking. Just as he was about to speak, the waiter arrived, delivering their dishes. Once they walked away, Severus picked up his fork, gesturing in a circle over their food. “Let us enjoy this meal and get to know what we’ve all missed in the last few years of each other's lives so that when we go to the outside world, our stories match.”

Millie took her blazer off, hanging it over the unoccupied chair across from Severus, and grinned. “You have to tell me how you two manage to get along.”

“What was that?” Hermione demanded the second they stepped into the house from the street.

“That,” Severus began as he removed his coat, tucking it into the cloak closet, “was dinner with Millie.” He glanced around the closet door to see her standing there with both of her hands on her hips, staring at him with a mix of irritation and awe. He was perfectly aware of what she was referring to, but after spending an evening playing word games with Millie, he hadn’t quite shifted from that mode of thought. Also, not that he would admit it to her, there was a part of him that enjoyed that feeling of being able to catch her unawares and confuse her.

“Not that,” she objected, removing her own coat into his hands. “What is this whole plan you came up with? Now we need her help to get the press to go after Ron? I thought we were supposed to be helping her?”

“You must understand Millicent is not like your friends. She isn’t a Gryffindor; she isn’t someone the world has been kind to.” Placing her coat on the hanger next to his, he shut the door and gestured for her to follow him into the sitting room. “But what she is, what is the most important thing to remember about her, is that she is proud. That is a witch who has clawed a life for herself when no one cared if she failed or succeeded.” Severus sank into his side of the sofa, lifting one leg over his knee to undo his boot laces. 

Hermione leaned down to pick up Crookshanks, petting his head as she walked into the sitting room behind him. “I still don’t understand how that explains what you came up with. I know proud people who still accept help.”

“She was a girl from the wrong house, with the wrong family name, on the losing side of a war. Bulstrode was once one of the great houses, and now, she is the last, and honoring that means everything to her. Millicent will not accept a perceived handout, an offer of help, or a consoling shoulder. If she cannot do it for herself, she doesn’t believe she needs it, because of that pride.” After removing both of his shoes, he sent them to the closet with a flick of his wand. “When you are trying to help a proud person, you will have more success in convincing them that you need them than the other way around. That is what I did tonight. I convinced her that we need her to accept our help, that what she is doing isn’t accepting something out of pity, but rather being useful. You two are more alike than you appreciate.” Severus hummed, leaning back against the sofa, amused at how the situation had panned out. Rather than finding Weasley and castrating him along with removing his vocal cords, he was going to get to watch the Wizarding World turn on him. “As an added bonus, we get a generous helping of revenge on Weasley.”

“How did you come up with this? When did you come up with this?” Hermione demanded, sitting down next to him with her cat still in her arms. Crookshanks gave a disgruntled meow and stretched his front legs out of her grasp, kicking with his back feet to be released.

“While you two were bickering, it became clear that I would have to use old techniques on her.” Severus reached across her and scratched the housebeast’s head, hoping to keep him from doing her harm in his protests. He’d become more fond of the little ginger creature, especially when he noticed a distinct reduction in seasonal vermin making their way into the house to try to escape the growing cold. 

“Have you done this to me?” She released Crookshanks, turning her whole body to face him, a suspicious smile on her lips.

“That would be telling, and I refuse to incriminate myself,” Severus mused, brushing a curl from her temple as he pivoted his body to face her.

He watched her expression change through several emotions at once: suspicion, confusion, and then finally realization. “You have!”

“Hermione, you are proud, just as she is, but you operate from a different set of emotions. You require a more delicate touch,” he whispered, trailing his fingers down the side of her face. He tipped her chin up as he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

When they first kissed, he’d waited the entire next day for the other shoe to drop, for her to be angry at him for it, for her to have regrets. He was prepared to find a way to live a more separate life in his home, to give her the space she would want from him after such a thing. He mourned the loss of their nightly ritual of reading, slowly moving his lab around while she was in her classes to accommodate his desk for when she inevitably told him to never touch her again.

To his surprise, she had swept into the house, bouncing on the high from an exemplary grade on the first draft of her mastery thesis, slung her arms around his neck, and kissed him senseless before she even said hello. 

From that moment, he’d understood that the boundary lines had been redrawn again. Kissing was as welcome as his hands reaching for her of their own accord, as welcome as slipping his arm around her waist, and he settled into the habit of kissing her when the desire to do so seized him. His own personal rule was that he would always kiss her tenderly first, giving her power over the intensity and pressure. Sometimes, it was merely a peck of a kiss, and they moved on, and other times it was like this, where she grabbed ahold of his shirt, drawing him closer as she kissed him back with fervor.

Severus relished the sensation, slipping his arm around her to pull her nearly into his lap. 

She giggled against him, breaking the kiss as she slipped her arms around his neck. “You cannot kiss me to keep me from asking more questions.”

“Can’t I?” he challenged, kissing her cheek and then her nose and then pressing another tender kiss to her lips. “Are you telling me that it doesn’t work?” He kissed her again, feeling the vibration of her laughter against his lips as he drew back once more. “Would you like me to stop?”

“No, I don’t want you to stop,” she hummed, lifting her hand to push his hair out of his face. Her honey-brown eyes narrowed slightly as she spoke, “But I am going to start paying more attention when you ask me for any kind of help.”

“I am sure you will,” he teased, letting the warmth and weight of her against him soothe that needy ache in his bones that always seemed to quiet when she was close. Severus had never considered that he was lonely before; he’d been content in his company for a long time and did not expect that to change. He had no idea that this insane law would have put him in a position where he would learn that he had been lonely, only because he wasn’t anymore. 

It took them several more minutes and twice as many kisses before they sunk into the sofa, her feet under his thigh as they each opened their books. Crookshanks climbed his way up to the back of the sofa, sitting behind his head and occasionally flicking his tail in such a way that Severus got a glimpse of orange fur in his peripheral vision. It distracted him from reading, but he was having issues focusing on the words, as it was. His eyes felt heavy, and the gentle purr of the creature was comforting.

Severus had the dangerous combination of being full from dinner, being warm and comfortable, and having not gotten decent sleep in some time. His bedroom was still not conducive to a great night's sleep, even with adjustments, and that left him taking a nap on the sofa in the middle of the day most days. He’d not taken such a nap today, as he had too many things to do before going out to dinner. Severus felt his eyes fall close twice; he thought he’d fallen asleep only to catch himself and shake his head. The only thing keeping him from heading up to bed was that he didn’t want to leave her, as she was part of the reason he was so comfortable.

The same words ran under his eyes, but the meaning was lost to him, and he felt his eyes droop. Before he could stop himself, his book hand fell to his chest, and his head fell forward as he succumbed to sleep.

Severus found himself rousing from the best sleep he’d had in weeks slowly. He was no longer sitting up, but he wasn’t entirely sure when that had happened. He felt fingers trail against his scalp, and he snuggled his face into the warm pillow beneath his face. The urge to go back to sleep was strong, even if his back was complaining from the positioning he was in. 

It was only when he felt her hand leave his head so that she could turn her page did Severus open his eyes, fully realizing what position he was in. Severus had somehow ended up sleeping with his head in her lap.

Hermione let out an amused hum at whatever she was reading above his head, her fingers gently sinking back into his hair. Tenderly, she traced shapes against his scalp, opening and closing her hand and carding her fingers through his hair. 

His throat tightened with a foreign emotion as he tried to keep his breathing even to not give away that he was awake. Something about the simple affection, the gentle touch, and the intimacy of the moment had his heart pounding and his guts quivering. There was never a time in his life that he could recall someone letting him sleep in their lap, never someone he trusted enough to fall asleep close to for that to happen. Even as a boy, affection like this was never freely given, and he didn’t know what to do with this newfound feeling. It slipped through him like a warm summer breeze in a forest, stirring and simultaneously settling the deep sorrowful ache in his ribcage. It quieted that yearning that only seemed to stir under her attention when he never seemed content and always desperately wanted more. 

He drew in a deep breath through his nose, the scent of her filling his senses and sinking it into his memory. Severus focused on this moment, closing his eyes and savoring the steady cadence of her breathing, the warmth of her legs beneath his head, and the tingle of sensation left behind from her fingers against his head. 

This was the most affection Severus had ever been freely given in his adult life. 

Tears began to form at the corners of his eyes, threatening to give him away by sinking into her trousers and cooling her skin. Reflex had him seeking to hide that vulnerability, and he stretched his arms up stiffly, wiping his eyes as if he had just awoken. 

“How long have I been asleep?” he croaked groggily.

“A little while,” Hermione whispered, her fingers still slipping through his hair.

Severus moved to push himself up from her lap, even as everything in him screamed to let him remain, to let him live perpetually in that point in time. “Forgive me for falling asleep on you.”

“Nothing to forgive. I didn’t mind, and you were more comfortable this way than with your chin on your chest,” Hermione told him softly, smiling at him as he sat upright. 

He rubbed his hand down his face, trying to combat the sleepiness and conceal his emotions, mourning the loss of her affection and closeness. “I think I should head to bed.”

“I should too, it’s late." She stretched her arms above her head, closing her book over her thumb. “I would have gone to bed hours ago, but you looked too peaceful to disturb.”

Severus glanced at the clock, and his eyes widened. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning; he’d slept nearly six hours in her lap like that. “I am sorry for keeping you up.”

A hand curled around his wrist, tugging him gently toward her. He turned to glance at her, and he was surprised to have warm lips immediately against his. Hermione kissed him sweetly before drawing back and smiling at him with firelit brown eyes that looked like honey in an amber glass. “Don’t be sorry; just don’t expect me to get up early for breakfast.”

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, this light and moment creating the perfect setting. 

His heart thumped. 

It wasn’t the normal cadence of his heartbeat; it didn’t even fully feel like it was physically the muscle pumping blood in his chest. It felt like a gong being struck, the echo of which sent tremors and quakes of something stronger than affection through his body, filling him with buzzing from his head to his toes.

Severus blinked slowly, and all at once knew that he had done something he considered impossible. He’d fallen head over heels, burn the world down to keep her warm, in love. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

My Skŭp,

The sunrise over the sea reminded me of your smile, and how without it, the world is a dark night. It brings me great relief to know that Severus (shall I call him this, as he is family now, or shall I refer to him as Master due to his station? I am unsure due to him marrying you.) is as protective of you as I am. You may tell him I no longer desire to crush him. As long as you do not need me to. 

I am angered by this other student who is tormenting you at university. Does he not understand that he is privileged to grace the same halls as you? Does he not know that should you desire it, his innards would be on the floor? Shall I have to come to tell him this? Show him a picture of me; let him know I will crush him if he does not stop.

Master Fluffers has settled into shore life, his little feet no longer cold but now sandy. I must shake him out (always gently) before I bring him into the hammock to sleep. He has taken to digging himself a rolling pit, but how can one be upset with such a majestic creature? Look at him in the sand; is he not the most regal of beasts?

The morning has broken upon me, and the surf against the beach sings her drawing song. Master Fluffers and I are bound for the water. I shall write to you again soon and watch the post for your letters. You and Severus should come join me here; the English weather is too dreary and cold, and your magnificence is wasted on it.

All my love, and Master Fluffers' love as well. 

<3 Skapi

Hermione looked at the photos that Viktor had sent her with a soft smile. The first was of his Pekingese, Master Fluffers, wearing sunglasses in the sand on a sunny day, his legs splayed out in front and behind him. Hermione loved how much joy the dog had brought to her best friend's life, even if they were the oddest pair. The tiny dog had bewitched the giant, brawny man with his fluff, wiggles, and his squeaky little bark. She shook her head in amusement, glancing at the second picture. It was Viktor, his back to the sea with a vibrant sunrise behind him. Oranges and yellows streaked across the dark purple clouds, reflecting off the water in an explosion of color. He was grinning and gesturing to the sky, as if he were demonstrating that it was beautiful. The third was of him and Master Fluffers on a surfboard catching a wave. The little dog stood on the front of the board, tongue out and fur wet and dripping, and Viktor was in his board shorts, arms out balancing the board with a gleeful grin. She watched as he rode the wave all the way into the shore and then carried both it and Master Fluffers back out to sea again. 

There was a time that Hermione would feel occasional longing for the companionship of Viktor. When they had dated, he was never far from her side, attentive and engaging her with conversation, always trying to sweep her out on an adventure, away from her books. Even though their lives were as incompatible as his gender preference in a partner, his letters and his photos would always stir that feeling up slightly, but this time, it didn’t. The longing for him to be there just for the sake of having someone who knew her on more than a surface level wasn’t there. Her love for him had not diminished in any way, she knew that, but Hermione realized that she wasn’t lonely, and that was what often caused her to long for what was, and what would never be again. 

He was no longer the only man who saw her and appreciated her for who she was, not just the titles and accolades and cleverness. Hermione took a drink of her coffee, setting the photos down on the table to look across at the other man who made her feel seen, and made her feel something that she didn’t quite have a name for. 

Severus set his coffee cup down, glancing at the moving photos and then her with curiosity. “Has Mister Krum said something amusing?”

“Only that he cannot keep the sand out of Master Fluffers’ fur,” she offered with a smile, turning the photos so that Severus could watch the dog wallowing in his little sand burrow.

“I have wondered, why is his familiar called ‘Master’ Fluffers?” he asked, glancing from the photos to the crossword in front of him.

A burst of laughter erupted from her, a wide smile crossing her lips. She was one of the few who had been around when Master Fluffers was just Fluffers. “Because he has a Mastery in cuteness and fluffiness, according to Viktor. He actually had a certificate made for him that says as much. We had a whole ceremony for him and everything.”

“I almost regret asking,” Severus breathed out disapprovingly, lifting his quill to mark in a word on the page before him. He scoffed under his breath, “A mastery in fluffiness.”

“It is sweet,” she countered, still grinning.

Severus glanced up at her without lifting his head, with an unamused expression. “From a man who threatens to crush me with his massive arms, it is unsettling.”

She perked up as she excitedly shared the news with him. “He has said he no longer wishes to crush you, since I told him you are as protective of me as he is. That you are as committed to ensuring I don’t come to harm.”

“I am saved yet again by your letter writing,” he snorted with amusement, glancing back to the work at hand.

“I think you are saved by your own merit, as he didn’t question me about it,” Hermione told him, smirking as she slyly relayed who was now on Viktor’s cruising list. “Now he wants to come and crush Thomas Walker.”

“I would hold him so that Mister Krum could,” Severus only half jested.

Hermione knew that Severus had made several of his own threats toward her classmate, but she didn’t believe he was worth it. She’d known her fair share of boys like him, he was just an asshole looking to be noticed, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a rise out of her if she could avoid it. That didn’t mean she didn’t find humor in the image of Severus and Viktor ganging up on him.

“Oh, then you would really be in his good graces,” she teased. 

“I shall be sure to remember that, should your Bulgarian make a visit,” Severus replied, filling in another row of boxes on the puzzle. He was far ahead of her, as she’d taken a break to read the post and she wrinkled her nose, returning her own attention to her copy of the crossword. It wasn’t a competition per se, but Severus had teased her once about being slower at it than he was, and now she made it a point to try to beat him. He didn’t seem very put off by her triumphant ‘ha’ whenever she did beat him, he actually often smiled at her when she did, admitting defeat with a lift of his coffee cup and a soft ‘well done’.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those mornings, as Severus was done with his crossword before her. His lips crooked at the corner with a triumphant smirk as he got up from the table, folding his copy under his arm as he went to deposit his cup of coffee in the sink. Hermione swore she saw him wink as he walked out of the kitchen, which made her face flush as she tried to hurriedly complete it.

By the time they were expecting Millie to arrive, she’d completed the crossword, revised part of the second draft of her Herbology mastery thesis, and gotten dressed for the day. It was going to be a busy day in Diagon Alley; Hermione already knew it, but she was certain that Severus had picked Saturday for a reason. Waiting for her to arrive, Hermione tucked into the sofa with the novel she was in the middle of rereading. 

The floo flashed green, and Millie stepped into the sitting room. “Good morning, Severus, Hermione,” she greeted both of them.

Hermione closed her book, setting it on the arm of the sofa, and glanced at the other woman. Instead of the smart three-piece suit, Millie had gone for a pair of slacks and a tailored maternity blouse that seemed to display her stomach more prominently. She had a black leather shoulder bag over one arm, black fringe swaying with her movement.

“Good morning," Hermione replied, much happier that Millie seemed to be content with politeness after dinner. She untucked her feet from under Crookshanks, who grumbled a meow at her and went back to sleep as she stood up from the seat. “Are you prepared for our outing?”

“For the most part. I will have to ease into the role a bit,” Millie advised, rolling her neck as if she were about to get into a fight rather than go for a shopping trip. “Not exactly used to trying to draw attention to myself.”

“I am sure you will do an admirable job,” Severus offered, stepping into the room from the hidden door to the stairs. He’d been in his lab for most of the morning, likely making sure his brews were in order. He crossed the room to the closet, pulling his coat out and pulling it over his arms. “To be clear, Millie, I do not want any protest about purchases we make for you today, but I also don’t expect over-the-top gratitude. Many, like Hermione, are not aware of what you’ve been doing since graduating and will not be aware that you can more than aptly provide for yourself. We shall use that to our advantage as well.”

“Understood,” she nodded approvingly, her black bangs bouncing with the movement. “I will pay you back later.”

Severus dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “I consider whatever we acquire today as part of paying for your services in aiding us.”

“I am not going to say no to that,” Millicent agreed, leaning down and patting Crookshanks softly. It was a little uncanny to see Millie tenderly scratch under his chin, but then again, Hermione knew more intimately than most that Millie had a cat of her own in school. It would be a nightmare that she never forgot.  

“Glad we have that settled,” Severus declared as he crossed the room to join them. 

Hermione pulled her trainers on, smirking. Severus had told her that he was going to find a way to get Millie to let him buy her some essentials for her child, and it seems that he had.

“Should you tire,” Severus pointed out, buttoning his coat closed, "or wish to appear as if you have grown tired, inform either of us, and we will find somewhere discreetly obvious to sit. We will also be taking you to lunch, so inform me when you get hungry.” 

“Understood.” Millie stood up straight from petting the cat, her tone serious as if he were giving her directions and she was going to follow them to the letter.

“You may also lean upon my person, should you feel the need,” Severus offered, glancing between Millie and Hermione. 

For a moment, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that he was searching her for jealousy or concern over his telling her this.

“Oh, that will make a lot of heads turn for sure,” Millie responded, smirking. “I will make sure to not put too much weight on you if I do.”

“I am going to ignore the implication that I am frail or feeble in that statement,” he drawled with an arch of his eyebrow. 

Hermione let out a laugh, unable to take that expression as seriously when he gave it to her so often when he was teasing her.  “You can lean on me too, if you want, Millie.”

“As long as you don’t expect us to skip arm in arm,” Millie replied suspiciously for a second.

She shook her head. “I don’t, I don’t make Severus skip with me, I won’t make you either.”

Severus snorted with humor, trying to cover his laugh with a cough. He flicked his wand, and the sound of glass against metal rattled through the sitting room as a series of small, long vials in a metal stand floated to his hands. He offered them over to Millie. “I have these for you as well.”

“What are these?” she asked, not reaching for them but glancing from them to Severus and Hermione.

Hermione shrugged, she didn’t have the faintest idea what Severus had in his hands, as he hadn’t informed her of anything he was brewing for her.

“You appeared pale and, I assumed, you were potentially anemic at dinner the other evening, so I took the liberty of brewing you a suitable prenatal,” Severus explained, pulling one of the vials from its slot. “You’d mentioned you were wary of taking anything from the apothecary due to potential sabotage. I was certain you’d be more comfortable with something I brewed for you and your child than someone else.”

Her dark eyes regarded the vial in his hands, and she reached out for it, turning it in her hands. She uncorked the bottle and took a cursory sniff before casting a spell over it, likely to detect toxins. Satisfied, she smiled, nodding her head. “Thanks, I am more comfortable with something coming from you. You don’t have a reason to poison me, at least right now.”

“I wouldn’t poison you even if I had reason while you are with child,” Severus countered, shrinking the rest of the vials into a parcel for her. “When you run out, I shall have another batch for you.”

“And they say we don’t have consciences,” she mused sarcastically, taking the parcel and tucking it into her shoulder bag. “Should I take it now?”

“That is entirely up to you,” Severus told her, before giving her a warning. “It may sour an empty stomach, but you will absorb more of the iron and folic acid if you take it before eating.”

Millicent seemed to consider it for a moment and then uncorked the vial, bringing it to her lips. “Bottoms up,” she whispered, drinking the entire vial down in a single gulp. She tensed her jaw, rocking her head back and forth once before exhaling. “Not the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” she said with a grimace.

Hermione and Millie went through the floo first, with Severus following behind. They had a shopping list for both things needed for the house, and things that Severus thought would be prudent to purchase for Millie, or for it to appear they were purchasing for her. 

Hermione ended up walking on Severus’ right side, while Milicent waddled at his left.  She was very good at overperforming the movement, Hermione noted, as the bravado of her gait from the restaurant was nearly gone. Instead, Millie ambled, her belly leading first, and she would occasionally stop and put her hands in the center of her back, closing her eyes as if she were waiting for something to pass. It wasn’t over the top, she never stopped to see if someone was looking, she merely conducted herself as if this was her normal. It was rather convincing, and had Hermione not known what was going on, she would have no doubts that Millie was suffering. In part, she wondered if Mille was actually suffering this whole time, but had been concealing it and was now letting down her defenses and displaying it.  

It was easier for Hermione to provide the empathy that was her part of this performance, most especially because she genuinely felt it for the other woman. A few times, Millie had offered her her elbow and Hermione had walked by her side while they talked about the things they needed to purchase. 

The first stop was the apothecary, as Severus needed some reagents for his work. He’d gone through his stock of moonstone, and it was needed for whatever commission he was currently working on. Hermione and Millie spent their time in the balm section, and Severus had joined them once he had what he wanted. After a discussion on if she wanted something for the stretch marks that came from growing a child, it had been agreed upon that Severus would make her something for that too. 

Hermione knew that she’d seen Barnabas Cuffe in there, the man unmistakably eavesdropping on the conversation between her and Millicent as Severus went to pay for the items needed to make the salve. She’d made sure to comment how bad she felt that Millie had been taking care of herself this whole time, even with how sick she’d been. Millie’s eyes met hers, and she smiled in a way that made her think that the former Slytherin was impressed with her before going into detail about how bad her morning sickness had been. The wizard seemed to make haste from the store after that and Hermione wondered if it was to get to the presses, or because he couldn’t stand hearing about Millie’s daily worship at the porcelain throne.

The second shop that they went into was the furniture shop. Hermione had decided that, lovely as it was that Severus had provided her with the newer of the two mattresses in his house, the twenty-year-old mattress she was on needed to be replaced. She also wanted two end tables next to the sofa so that she had somewhere to keep her leisure books close so she wouldn’t have to get up when she was sitting with Severus. Lastly, Severus had wanted to get Millie a sturdy and well made rocking chair, something that would be useful for a longer period of time during the pregnancy and childrearing years. 

The shopkeeper had taken one look at the three of them, and suddenly he was there asking all kinds of questions about their needs and what they were looking for. Hermione had the impression that the man thought that Severus was both married to Hermione and had impregnated Millie. But if that was the case it was quickly vanquished when Severus started into his diatribe about his disappointment in Weasley’s disregard for the wellbeing of his wife and child. The shopkeeper had promised discretion at hearing Millie’s plight, walking around with them as they made their selections.

Hermione asked Severus to lie on the mattress she was thinking about buying, asking if he thought he’d be able to fall asleep on it. He’d resisted at first but then lay down next to her. It was the first time they were in a bed together, and Hermione could not help but be incredibly amused that it was in a public place. He confirmed that it was suitable for him to sleep on, getting up and walking around the mattress to offer her his hand. 

Getting to her feet, she noticed that a large man started walking toward Millie. She had a distinct feeling that she knew him from somewhere, but she wasn’t sure where. Giving Severus’ arm a tug, she gestured her head in that direction. He followed her gaze, but didn’t seem at all alarmed.

The man was over a head taller than Millie, with giant biceps and a solid frame. A thick black beard and mustache concealed most of the lower half of his face, hanging down over a foot from where she imagined his chin. His black hair had a hint of curl to it as it swayed back and forth in a thin ponytail that was as long as his beard.

He strode right up to Millie, who was just a few steps away from where they had been trying the bed out looking in their direction. Hermione gave her a wide-eyed look, trying to indicate that there was someone behind her.  She turned around just as he stopped in front of her. 

“You look like shit,” the man announced loudly with a gruff voice, his eyes roaming over Millie.

She crossed her arms over her chest, but Hermione wasn’t able to see her expression. “Eat shit and die.”

“Left my shit eating grin at home, m’afraid,” the man replied with a sarcastic sneer.

“Go to hell,” Millie sniped back, shaking her head.

Hermione moved to step forward, not wanting to leave her with the unknown man, uncertain if, even with her stature, Millie would be able to stand up to him if he meant her harm. This certainly didn’t seem like a friendly conversation. Severus stopped her, his hand jutting out in front of her as he watched the exchange with less worry and more amused curiosity. “That is Gregory Goyle,” he muttered, as if that meant this was an acceptable exchange.

“And get stuck for an eternity there with you?” Greg replied, glancing from Millie to the ground thoughtfully. He gave a shrug and nodded in acceptance. “Not sure that they’d survive the both of us, but at least I’d be in good company.”

Suddenly, Millie dropped her crossed arms, throwing them over the man’s shoulders and hugging him tight. “You’ve missed me, you sappy son of a bitch.”

“I have,” Goyle replied, hugging her back, giving her a back slap as they parted. He leaned back, one arm crossing over his chest and the other coming to his beard as he looked her over again. “But you do look like hell. Little sprog sucking the life out of you.”

“They say they are parasites.” Millie shrugged, letting out a laugh. 

It was the first time Hermione had heard Millicent actually laugh, and it sounded nothing like the laughs she had at dinner with them. It was rich and full of life in a way that made the other sound as if it were an act. 

“This one surely is, what are you,” Goyle gestured to her pregnant belly, “ready to pop?”

“I ain’t that big,” she corrected, shoving his arm roughly. “I got about five more months.”

Goyle shook his head, still working his beard between his thick fingers. “Damn, I’ve been trying to get you to let me put a baby in you for years, and a fucking Weasley steals my chance.”

“Greg,” she groaned with mock irritation, “with my face and your brains, any baby we mashed together would be destined for misery.”

“Not to mention the devil horns and the tail from your side of the family and the wings and sharp teeth from mine,” chuckled the colossal man that had not been that buff when they’d gone to school together. His brown eyes looked past Millie, meeting Hermione's, and he swept over to Severus before glancing back at Millie. “So, why you trailing around with Snape?”

“He’s Granger now,” Millicent corrected sharply. Greg held his hands up in surrender, an expression of beseeching forgiveness that seemed to satisfy Millie as she continued to speak. “And he’s helping me out.”

Some of the mirth in the man’s face shifted to concern, one of his hands grasping her arm. “Why do you need help?”

Millie glanced back at them, her dark eyes falling on Severus. Hermione glanced up to see that he gave her a small nod. Whatever had just passed between them, she wasn’t sure, but Millie turned back to the other former Slytherin as she answered him. “Weasley left me alone in the house. I’ve been dealing with the pregnancy on my own.”

“He what?” Greggory Goyle demanded angrily, his forehead furrowing as his lips scrunched and contorted in anger.

“Yeah.” Millie nodded, exhaling in annoyance. “He told me to fuck off and left as soon as the test was positive.”

“I’ll kill him,” he roared. Hermione watched as this mountain of a man rippled with rage, his face going red as he glanced toward the door as if he were looking for the source of his anger before he stepped toward Millie, imploring her as he snarled, “Say the word Millie, front page, guts across the Ministry front steps.”

She grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. “He’s not worth it; he’s not worth shit on your shoe, let alone your freedom.”

This seemed to deflate the fury in the other man, and he nodded his head. His hands cupped her face, staring at her intently. “Are you good? Why did you reach out to them and not me? You know I would have been there in a heartbeat.”

“Hermione reached out to me; I didn’t reach out to them,” Millie explained, her hands on his hands for a moment before she pulled them away from her face.

“Hermione?” he repeated in disbelief, as if she weren’t standing just a few feet away. "What does she want from you?”

“Apparently, he abandoned her too, in the past. She gets it,” Millie responded matter-of-factly.

Hermione thought for a moment about how it made her feel to hear that aloud. She did understand; she knew intimately what it was like to have Ron decide it was too much and just walk away. For her, it had been in the middle of a war, where they could have died at any moment, and for Millie, it was in the middle of a pregnancy, which Hermione didn’t assume to be that different in terms of intensity.

“Do you trust her?” Greg asked, shifting so that he could see both Millie and Hermione.

Milicent laughed and shook her head. “Not as far as I can throw her, but I trust Severus, and he’s stepping in to be there.”

“Well, he’s at least one of us,” Goyle agreed, nodding. The giant of a man took in a deep breath, and suddenly the fury was gone, some of the redness receding from his face as a crooked smile replaced his sneer. His attention was fully on Millie as he nudged her arm. “So, you gonna name the little squirt after me? You gotta admit, Greg Jr. has a ring to it, or a little Gregorina even.”

“No, it doesn’t and it hasn’t for years,” Millie replied, and yet she didn’t laugh. “I don’t know if I am going to get to name it.”

“What?” Greg asked, some of the mirth replaced with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“Weasley said he will be taking the baby and giving it to his mum,” Millie elaborated with a shake of her head. 

“Like hell he will!” Goyle exploded, the words erupting from him and echoing through the shop. 

“I don’t know if I will be able to stop him.” Millicent shook her head. Her voice now had that same flat edge that Hermione remembered from dinner. “The law says that he has the full right to make those kinds of decisions and that if I wanna contest it, we would have to go to court. Besides, it means I can get back to work.” She took in a breath and nudged him back, a mocking tone in her voice, “Who is going to keep you from stepping out in front of buses if I am caught up in nappies?”

“Millie, it was one time,” Goyle refuted, sighing in embarrassed humor. “And I mean, who’s to say you can’t do both. I’ve seen you hustle with a grown man under your arm, how much different is a quaffle-sized baby. And if Weasley thinks he is going to stop you, he doesn't know you.” Greg gestured to her with his hands from her feet to her head, as if he were showing her her own worth through his eyes. “You are Merciless Millie, Miss Meet Your Maker, 0 evades, 0 escapes, and reigning slapping contest Queen Ironhand Millie. He’s nothing compared to you.”

“Don’t go getting soft on me, Greg,” Millie warned, but there was no harshness to her words. “We’ll see what happens.”

“You know…” Greg started mischievously, his shoulders rolling forward as he leaned in toward her. “I got a kid on the way too, and you better believe I'm not against being a stepdaddy too.” He paused, smirking at her with a roguish wink. “You could call me Daddy too, while we're at it.”

“I am going to hit you so hard your son tastes it,” Millie taunted him, brandishing her fist at him even as she chuckled.

He clapped his hand over his fist, grinning like a kid who was told he would be getting a second dessert. “You know I love that foreplay, baby.”

She scoffed but it was full of laughter, shoving his arm again. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

“Yeah,” he let his head drop forward like he’d been caught. “Gotta get the rest of this nursery set up; the boy is almost here.”

“She good to you, this Vianna girl?” Millie asked with a soft earnestness.

“She ain’t you.” Greg smiled sadly, shrugging. “But she’s not bad; we’ve become friends, she’s got a wicked sense of humor, and she plays a mean hand of poker.”

“Good,” Millicent replied, clapping her hand on his shoulder. “Can’t have you losing to me every time when I come back.”

“I might lose a few times on purpose if we are stripping,” he teased with a shimmy of his shoulders. “That way you can know what you are missing.”

Millie put her hand on her forehead, groaning loudly and emphatically. “Get out of here, will ya, before you make me sick.”

“Alright, I’m going,” he laughed before holding her gaze for a moment. “You say the word, and I’m there.”

Millicent didn’t say anything, she just nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. 

The towering man smiled at her, before stepping around her. He paused to give Severus a respectful nod and a ‘sir’ before moving further into the store.

Hermione was not sure what to make of the conversation she’d just witnessed. She was pretty sure they were friends, maybe more, but they were so aggressive with each other that it was hard to tell for sure. “I can’t tell if that went well or not.”

“That went exceedingly well,” Severus whispered, smirking as he closed the space between them and Millie. “I see Mister Goyle is still remarkably unserious and nonsensical.”

“Yeah,” Millie hummed, a small smile on her face. “He’s the kind you can’t knock the sense out of, because he didn’t have it in the first place.”

The way that Millie’s face was red, like a blush, made Hermione lean more toward the 'they are friends or something more' path. She came to stand next to Severus, still reeling from the conversation but curious. Maybe they were seeing each other before the law, and it had never been brought to light.

“Are you two—” Hermione stopped in her tracks as Millie narrowed her eyes at her in a glare. She thought better of asking if they had been seeing each other. “—coworkers?”

“Oh.” Millie’s glare dropped, and she nodded as the smile came back to her face. “Yeah, we’ve been on assignment a few times before. One of the few who can keep up with me, except when I am stopping him from walking into moving vehicles.”

“IT WAS ONE TIME, MILLIE!” Greg could be heard echoing from the back of the store.

“A hard measure to meet, I am sure,” Severus responded, and Hermione could hear the amusement in his rich tone. “Shall we continue on?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

So far, the outing had done exactly what Severus had hoped. Aside from the slowly creeping public gossip about why the three of them were out together, both Millie and Hermione had settled into something cordial, and they had been able to purchase things that Millie had thought she wouldn’t need because she wasn’t going to get to keep her child. Severus was sure at this point, especially with the unexpected but well-timed conversation with Greg Goyle, that she was changing her mind on whether she was willing to fight Weasley on it. It wasn’t that he was adamant that Millie keep her child instead of it going to the Weasley matriarch; it was that Severus was going to do everything in his power to give her a choice in the matter. 

The constant simmering anger in his guts would rise to a near boil every time he was reminded that this was the cost of this vile law. That those in power had no moral qualm with what they were forcing their people into. He felt his blood pressure start to rise, so he let out a breath, changing his thoughts from that to their next destination. Millicent and Hermione had been discussing lunch options while he replaced a cauldron that was showing more wear that he was comfortable working with any longer. 

They had yet to come to a decision by the time they had exited the shop, leaving them standing just outside the entrance, trying to decide if they wanted wizarding or muggle fare. Severus had no dog in this fight, as he didn’t care where they ate, so he stood at Hermione’s side, watching those around them with suspicion. Severus didn’t like to loiter in such occupied places.

“Mione! Millie! What are you doing?” a loud voice yelled, drawing his attention in that direction. The youngest Weasley boy was scrambling between the crowd, huffing and puffing his way toward them as he bellowed out like a mule.

Severus shifted forward a step, arms crossed as he glowered down at the younger man in his approach. Severus assessed the man for threats, seeing that he was in a worse state than when they’d seen him last. Unshaven, bedraggled clothing, dark puffy eyes, small broken blood vessels over his cheeks, and a pallor that reminded Severus too much of his own father. If Weasley weren't drunk now, he’d only just have stopped drinking. Once he had closed in on them, Severus greeted him dryly, “Mister Weasley, what a pleasure.”

“Fuck off Snape,” Ron snarled, his attention solely on Millicent as he stomped forth. 

Severus could smell the state of unwashedness emanating from the man, mingled with the telltale sour musk of old liquor.

Hermione intercepted him, brown eyes narrowed. “My husband's name is Severus Granger, and you know it. I will not repeat this to you again.”

"Yeah, sure, sure,” he waved Hermione off before pointing at his own wife. “What are you doing here with Millie?”

“The fuck do you care who I am out with?” Millie demanded, crossing her arms just over her belly.

Weasley gave out a great huff of frustration, his voice angry and embarrassed. “I care because my mum told me you are out here making us look bad.”

“How is it that we are making your family look bad, Mister Weasley?” Severus asked in a forced, bored tone, his wand in hand up his sleeve. He wouldn’t start a duel, not with an audience watching out here in the middle of the street, but he would not let Weasley do anything to them either. “We are merely making sure that your wife has the essentials she needs during her pregnancy and for her nursery. You’d know this if you were home to care for her. Instead, it seems that you and your family have left her to her own devices, with no care if she is in good health or not.”

Bloodshot eyes turned on him, full of anger. “Fuck off. If she needs something, she can get it herself, and she can care for herself; she’s not sick, she's just pregnant. Women are designed to care for themselves when they are up the duff.”

“Ron, don’t be so stupid,” Hermione chided angrily. “You are being cruel for no reason.”

“I’m cruel?” he bellowed, shaking his head as he pointed at her. “You are here fucking our professor while you know well that I still love you, and I’m cruel?”

Severus did not get the chance to respond as Hermione’s face turned red as it had when she’d exploded in the sitting room and she snapped at him, “You still love me? Like you loved Cho? Like you loved Gabrielle? Like you loved Lavender? Only as long as it suits you? What kind of love is that, Ron? Selfish love that I want no part of and I told you that when we broke up!”

Weasley took a step back in the wake of her fury, and Severus situated himself so that he was no longer a few steps away, but rather directly next to Hermione and Millie.

“It is not the same, Hermione!” Ron spat, shaking his head. “You were always different.”

“It is the same, Ron; it is. I can’t believe you,” the words left Hermione in angry disbelief. “You just walked out on her, leaving her all alone to deal with this when you know damn well she didn’t want this any more than you do.”

“I did my duty, alright; she’s pregnant, isn't she?” Ron barked, pointing at Millicent’s stomach as if to show proof of his words. “What? Do you want me to play house with the enemy, like you are? Pretend to be a doting husband like him?” Weasley jerked his hand in Severus' direction before turning to the taller woman, growling angrily at her. “I could give two fucks about you, Millicent! As soon as the baby is born, we’re going to my parents, and I’m divorcing you.”

“You aren’t taking my kid, Ronald,” Millie countered quietly, her arms uncrossing as her fists balled.

Ron shook his head as he grit his teeth. “It’s my kid too, and I told you, I’m not going to let you turn it into one of you.”

“One of what, exactly, Mister Weasley,” Severus snarled, his wand in his hand now. If Millicent gave a single sign that she felt unsafe, or if Ron took a single step closer to her, then he was not above acting. 

“Evil. A blood purist, a dark wizard, a threat to everyone around it, someone like you, Snape,” Ron hissed vehemently. “I won’t have my kid turning out like that.”

“You want the kid to turn out like you, who runs at the first chance of real pressure? You are an arrogant selfish coward, something Severus is not. He would never abandon someone who needs him, he would never abandon Hermione the way you walked out on me. What makes  you so much better than him?” Millie demanded, jaw tight. “You think you are better than us, but like I told you when you left, you are just a little shit stain who managed to get his name in the history books, and your best days are long behind you.”

“Fuck you Millicent,” Ron screamed, stepping forward and shoving his finger into her face. “You ugly useless cow. The only reason I had to touch you, or that anyone would touch you, is because they were legally obligated to. Just looking at you makes me sick. You are foul and disgusting, and no one wants to be with a woman who looks like a troll.”

“Back. Away. From. Her. Now.” Every word came out as a threat as Severus jammed his wand into Weasley’s side hard, crowding the space as he drew his lips back in a violent sneer. This whole scene had Severus’ guts in knots, shadows of his own past coming to the fore of his mind. But Severus was not a small child and he did not have to stand idly by. He would not allow this to continue. Damn what the press thought, damn everything else, Severus swore to himself a long time ago that he would not tolerate this behavior ever again from anyone. 

“Mister Weasley, I will not allow you to continue to speak to her this way, even if she is your wife. Especially since she is your wife.” He shouldered Weasley away, putting himself between Millie and him. “I can’t imagine this is the man your father raised you to be. I know that Arthur Weasley would never tell his wife to fuck off or act as you have towards the mother of your child. That he isn’t dying of shame over his youngest son's cruelty speaks only to his fortitude, and that your mother sent you into town rather than boxing your ears is just as much a mystery. You are a disgrace to your family.” Severus took in a deep breath, clamping down on the anger that wanted to explode like an inferno inside of him. It would not serve anyone if he killed Weasley, he reminded himself. Taking in another breath, he let the words escape him in a low, deadly hiss, “Go back where you came from and let us continue our afternoon, or I will take great pleasure in ensuring you will never be able to partake in the act of procreation again.”

Ron took a step back, looked Severus up and down, and then looked at Hermione with a disgusted expression. “Are you going to say anything to your husband about this, or are you just going to let him threaten me?”

“I don’t know this man, Severus,” Hermione whispered, and he could hear the heartache underneath it. 

Severus turned so that he could see both Hermione and Ron. She had her wand out, pointed toward the ground but in such a way that if she had to lift it, it would only take a flick of her wrist. Severus had become rather apt at reading Hermione, but he didn’t know what the expression on her face meant. Wide-eyed, with a thin-lipped grimace, she seemed torn between agony, fear, and anger.

“I don’t want him near me,” she said in that same stilted tone, swallowing hard as she continued, her other hand moving to wrap around Millie's arm as she backed up. “I don’t think he is someone safe to have around Millie right now either. He looks like a man I used to know, but he isn’t that man. I don’t know what happened to my best friend, but I think he died at some point, and I am just now noticing.”

“Mione, come on, don’t say that." Ron’s voice dropped from its fury to a wounded worry.

She shook her head violently, and a tear trailed down her cheek. “I don’t know you, you don’t get to call me that. Only my friends get to call me that. You can call me Missus Granger.”

Severus stood there in stunned fury, realizing that what he was seeing was her heart breaking at the fall of this man before her and her holding it inside. The anguish was clear as she looked at Ron blankly, no emotion other than the singular tear running down her face. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ron raved now, the anger returning. “What do you mean you don’t know me?”

“You fucked up good now, didn’t ya, Ron?" Millie cawed out, stepping back with Hermione, her hand moving over the other woman’s in solidarity.

“You need to go,” Hermione urged, her voice strained. “Leave us alone; I don’t know you and I don’t want you around me.”

“Fucking hell,” Ron shouted, eyes wide as he then looked at Severus. “What did you do to her? You really brainwashed her! Right in fucking front of me.”

Severus grit his teeth, the seething rage having another layer with her emotional display of the pain. He would not tolerate this going on any longer, flicking his wand to send a stinging hex at the young man. “Move along, Mister Weasley, before I move you myself on her behalf.” 

The redhead looked at him, jerking his hand back from the spell, and then looked around. It was clear he was trying to assess if Severus really would hurt him in front of a crowd full of people. He moved as if he were going to say something, and Severus saw, out of the corner of his eye, Hermione’s wand flick, and a squall of angry canaries left her wand, aiming directly for him. Upon seeing them, Weasley’s eyes went wide, and he turned, running in the opposite direction as the birds pecked and clawed at him.

The crowd seemed to also dive away and disperse from the birds, even though they only tailed Weasley out of the square.

Severus glanced at them both now, tucking his wand away once he was sure it was no longer needed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Millie answered, removing her hand from Hermione’s and squaring her shoulders. “That place Hermione suggested for lunch sounds appealing, and it might be more discreet.”

Severus agreed that the public had gotten enough of a show for the day. He reached out to Hermione, his hand taking the one not around her wand. “Hermione?”

“I’m fine,” she offered with a shake of her head, hair falling around her face and obscuring it for a moment. She pushed it away with her wand hand, meeting his gaze. “I am fine. Just angry. Let’s go eat,” she told him in an obvious lie, stepping closer and wrapping her arm around his bicep. Her grip felt like it did that very first outing, like she was anchoring to him in the wake of what may come. Severus curled his arm up, pulling her closer to his torso as he closed his arm over hers.

Lunch was a somber affair. Hermione had suggested a Muggle restaurant just outside of Diagon, about which she’d been very passionate regarding their French onion soup, but as they sat there, it remained untouched. Millicent seemed to make it her personal mission to make Hermione return to her precious previous enthusiasm, so she began to tell her about her novel. It only took a few moments and some details, and Hermione was suddenly asking all kinds of questions about the plot and the characters while dipping into her melted cheese cap.

Severus exchanged a look of gratitude with the other woman as he ate his own food, trying to resist the urge to hunt Weasley down and break his bones in the same way he had just broken what he had in her. 

Having made all their purchases before the altercation, they took the floo just inside Diagon to the house. Severus made sure to separate what was theirs from Millie’s while the two of them sat on the sofa, petting the house beast and discussing arcs of characters he had long lost the plot on. Severus took himself to the kitchen, making tea and working through his own issues with the events of the day. 

It had taken two cups of tea and thoroughly dicing the evening's vegetables to smaller bits than he normally would have to quell the rage enough that he felt that he wouldn't take it out on Hermione.

After a short while, Millie got up, yawning and announcing she was going home now. 

Coming out of the kitchen, he picked up the shopping bag with her purchases, offering it to her at the floo. “Thank you for accompanying us. I am sorry that Mister Weasley showed up and soured the outing.”

“I don’t think he did, Severus; I think he dug his own grave,” Millie said smugly.

“Oh?” Severus commented, thinking that there were enough people who’d heard him that she might have been right.

"Rita Skeeter was behind us, green quill scribbling away. She’d rushed up not long after he told you to fuck off the first time,” Millie explained, smirking. “I have a feeling he’s about to get the worst front-page cover he’s ever gotten in his life.”

He’d not seen the Daily Prophet reporter, but he also had other things to worry about at the time. If the Prophet had seen his outburst, then it would surely be either in the evening edition or on the front page in the morning. Perhaps it would be enough to get the boy to leave Hermione alone for good. Severus still hadn’t shaken the expression on her face from his mind, and it had created a dull pain in his own chest in commiseration for her pain when he thought about it now. “We can only hope he does, and that he learns his lesson.”

“And, besides that,” Millie continued, “it was fun to have people who don’t give two shits about me or this baby to act like it. I doubt any of those shop keepers would have paid me any mind if it weren’t for you two. It would have been worse after he came and acted out if we’d had more shopping to do.”

As much as he was glad he could assure Hermione that she would not have to deal with Ronald anymore this evening, he did not like that there was a chance that the liquor-brained fool could be waiting for Millicent. “If he comes home and causes you any trouble, do not hesitate to reach out to me. While I am absolutely certain you can and will handle him, I would like to bear witness to it.”

“He won’t be there." She frowned with a shrug. “He’s going to run home to Mummy. Like he always does.”

Hermione stood up from the couch, cradling the orange house beast like he was a toddler against her shoulder. “It was great going out with you today, all things considered. And, if you are willing, I would like to read what we were discussing, the barbarian clan story.”

“So you can judge it?” Millie asked, with an amused tone.

“No,” Hermione disagreed with a half-smile. “Who knows you might teach me a better way to word something for my essays.”

“I’ll think about it,” she replied, tucking her shoulder bag over her arm and her purchases over her wrist. “Good night.”

“Goodnight, Millie,” Severus said as he watched her step through the floo and leave.

It was now that Severus turned his attention on Hermione fully, his eyes seeking hers as he reached out to place his fingertips against the outside of her arm. “Are you alright?”

“I have never wanted to kill him more in my entire life,” she answered calmly, almost too calmly for someone speaking about murder, as she set Crookshanks on the sofa.

“I share that sentiment,” Severus agreed, watching the shifts in her body as she appeared to coil into herself.

“It is because I just realized that he never understood love,” she answered a question he had not asked, her lips twisting into a forlorn frown. “Even when surrounded by it, even when it was given to him. That he doesn't have the emotional maturity to feel it. That he believes possession is love and only the possession of what he wants, and I am his current aim for conquest. He truly does have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

“Mister Weasley has always lacked a certain level of maturity,” Severus sympathized, wondering if this was the result of his drinking or just how he had always been.

Her jaw tensed as she looked at the ceiling with a subtle shake of her head. “And the whole, ‘playing house with the enemy!' it's like he never left the war? He still sees everyone still in that same us versus them binary.”

It was apparent that when in the drink, Weasley saw everyone as either with him or against him. “And he thinks it is all a role everyone is playing.”

“He thinks you are pretending to be a doting husband." Hermione snapped her attention on him, her brown eyes boring into his with an unexpected intensity. “Please don’t think poorly of me, but I have to ask, because it will stick inside my mind if I don’t. Is this pretend to you?" She closed the gap, her hand against his chest. “The kisses, the affection, the touching? Are you pretending? Is this the delicate touch that I require?”

Severus wanted to kick himself for the teasing statement he’d made days before, having never once considered that she would equate Weasley’s words with it. That she would believe that he was anything but earnestly in love with her, even if he had never said the words aloud, just because of Weasley’s accusations and his own offhanded comment caused a lance of pain to cut a jagged line through his guts.

“No.” He cupped one hand over hers against his chest, the other caressing her cheek as he took in a steadying breath. “This is not pretend, Hermione. Believe me when I tell you that my…” he paused, seeking the right words, the safest way to tell her without it being too much. "Deep affection for you is genuine; our closeness is honest.”

“You do care about me?” Hermione whispered in a desperate tone that echoed when she’d asked if he would let her continue her studies.

“Have I given indication that I don’t?” Severus asked, rubbing his thumb under her eye softly, curling his hand around her fingers against his chest.

“I just want to hear it. I just want to be sure," she admitted, and a hot tear fell against his thumb.

Severus rubbed it into her skin, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her lips before drawing back again. “I care for you a great deal, Hermione, perhaps more than I am willing to voice.”

She nodded heavily, her forehead bumping against his nose as more tears began to fall. “I care about you too, so much, and I was so afraid that maybe it wasn’t real.”

“Come sit." Severus grasped her hand, drawing her along with him to the sofa. She followed him, wiping her other hand against her face as the tears began to stream from her eyes. He sat down, drawing her into his lap. 

Hermione curled into him, tucking her face into his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She began to shake as she wept into him. Severus embraced her, one hand smoothing over her back. He wasn’t absolutely certain of the full extent of the reason she was crying, but he knew that it didn’t matter as much as him being there for her did. He let her sob into his shoulder until she was breathless and snotty. 

She stayed in his lap, and Severus held her to him firmly, listening as she began to explain her long and tumultuous friendship and relationship with Ron, punctuated with tears and bouts of fury and anger at his actions. Hermione told him about how she’d broken up with him because he didn’t take her education seriously, that he didn’t believe she actually wanted her mastery. Within a week, he was with her roommate Lavender, affectionate and open in front of her as if to mock her, claiming that Lavender had been his one true love from school. It had hurt her, but it wasn’t the first time he’d used Lavender to hurt her feelings. She went on to list how she had watched him bounce from girl to girl and knew that whatever had been between them was never meant to be. 

When she’d dated Viktor, Ron had lost his mind, showing up at one of the dates and screaming that she was unfaithful, even when they’d not dated for years. Viktor had threatened to turn him into a human pretzel in order to get him to leave, but even then, the date had been ruined.

Severus did not understand why she had remained friends with Weasley when he acted like this toward her, but he also knew that his experience with friendship was limited, at best, to those he worked with. Hermione couldn’t explain it to him when he asked, simply shrugging and saying that she thought that if she loved him enough, even as a friend, that it would get better; if she were supportive enough, then Ron would treat her the way she treated him. 

He knew at once that Ronald had never deserved her at all.

When she was all cried out, Hermione had apologized for dumping all of that on him, and he had squeezed her to his chest in a tight hug to silence it. He would listen to her like this as much as she wanted if it helped, if it meant that she understood that his feelings for her were real. He kissed her head softly, telling her that she had no such reason to apologize. Hermione had leaned back at that moment and kissed him so soundly that his toes nearly curled. And she continued kissing him until they were wrapped in each other's arms, snogging on the sofa like two love-drunk fools.

Severus would have given everything to stay in that moment forever.

Dinner was later than he’d planned, but that didn’t matter, because instead of being upset over Weasley, Hermione was excited trying to explain to him what was going on in Millicent's novel. As he was washing the dishes, she sat at the table, glancing at him from the dining room table as Crookshanks wove himself around her legs and the chair leg.

“Severus, I would like you to come to bed with me,” she announced without any warning.

Severus nearly dropped the dish he was holding onto the floor, eyes wide as he stared at her. Surely he misheard her; surely she had asked something else and his ears had misheard her. “Excuse me?”

“Not to have sex,” Hermione assured, her hands up in placation as if she wanted to explain it. “To sleep. I would like to sleep with you tonight; I would like to fall asleep curled up with you.”

“Are you sure?” Severus asked her, setting the ceramic dish in the sink so that he did not break it. As much as he would love to wrap his arms around her and let the warmth of her lull him to sleep, he did not want to do this if she thought she was expected to due to their increased closeness on the sofa.

“Yes, I am sure,” she told him with a serious tone. Hermione glanced at the table, her finger drawing a lazy circle on the top of it. “Only if you want to, and before you worry about it, we will be sleeping with nightclothes on, nothing but cuddling and sleep.”

Severus held his breath, letting the silence linger to give her the impression that he needed to think about it. It would not do for him to behave overly eager, to jump too quickly, and to have her startle into thinking that he wanted anything more than what she was willing to offer.

“Let me finish the dishes, and I shall change into my nightclothes, if you are ready for bed now,” he said, each word with quiet consideration, controlling his pace so that his treacherous heart did not speed it up without his permission.

Hermione beamed at him, standing up from her seat and crossing the kitchen to him. She placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I will be by the time you are done,” she told him before half prancing out of the kitchen.

He let the breath he was holding go, leaning against the counter as the charge of emotions overran him. 

It was a warm, heady rush, this foreign feeling of being wanted, of someone seeking him for comfort, not just because he was a warm body and not just because he was Severus Snape, war criminal, spy, and mastermind. Hermione wanted just him, Severus, because she cared about him, so much so that she was worried that his affections were fake. He’d gambled on being open with her, showing her the side of him that the world was not privileged to see, and instead of being stung, of being hurt, he was being welcomed and showered in attentions he’d never known in his adult life.

Underneath it all, under the masks and weight of his past and decisions, that part of him that had been neglected for decades, that had slowly begun to grow and awake under her closeness. Her freely given affections were like vines encircling his ribs, as it crawled its way to his heart. That thump from the night he’d fallen in love with her echoed through him again, this time stronger, like a gong struck so loud it would shake mountains, and Severus felt alive with the vibration of his own love awakening and quaking through him.

Dishes were possibly not done to his standards after that moment, and he’d likely have to rewash them in the morning; he could not focus on those minor details. After having rushed through his own nightly routine, pulling on a shirt and pajama pants, he stood at the threshold of her doorway, overtaken by a sudden apprehension at crossing it.

Hermione had set her new mattress up, the new sheets she’d just purchased stretched over the bed, and she was in it, the duvet pulled back on one side as she looked at him from her pillow. Severus had not entered this room since she’d moved in, viewing it as her sanctuary away from him, a place he was not welcome, and yet, there she was, asking him into it.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” he murmured.

Hermione let out a soft laugh and patted the bed beside her where the covers were folded back. “Will you get under this duvet with me? Yes, I want you to sleep in here.”

He needed no more invitation as he stepped over the threshold into his wife’s room, feeling as if he’d been welcomed into something intensely intimate and private. He shut the door behind him, watching the golden eyes of her familiar from under the edge of the bed, wondering if the creature would attack him. Severus climbed up into the bed beside her, drawing the covers over his side as he laid his head on the pillow, glancing at her in the darkness.

From here, he was unsure what to do, unwilling to do too much and be exiled to his own bed for bad cuddling manners. Hermione seemed to sense this as she scooted herself closer, turning so that her back was against him as she pulled his arm over her so that he was spooning her. “There. Better?” she asked him, exhaling as she intertwined his fingers with hers.

He buried his face into her hair, breathing in deeply the scent of her as he closed his eyes. “Much better,” he whispered, curling his arm to bring her flush to his chest, his knees tucking behind her bent knees. The warmth of her was just as he’d imagined, the feeling of her against his chest, and Severus both thanked the powers that be and begged them to not let him ruin this.

The bed jostled, startling Severus from his thoughts, and he looked up to see that the housebeast had pounced on the bed with them. He walked over them both, stepping sharply on Severus’ side in such a way that Severus did not understand how he didn’t weigh as much as an elephant before he curled up on Hermione’s side of the bed by her head. He began to purr so loud that Severus could both hear it and feel it through the mattress as he tucked his paws up and down into the sheets.

“See, even Crookshanks is more comfortable with you in here with us,” Hermione giggled, turning to look back at him.

Her brown eyes were as dark as his own in the night, but he could see the happiness in them. That joy seemed to jump from her to him, spreading over him like a warm blanket as she pressed a kiss to his lips.

Severus shifted, lifting from the mattress so that he could place kisses over every part of her face before he finally settled with his lips against her forehead, placing several tender pecks against the skin there. He was so full of love and joy that he could hardly breathe, but he managed to whisper into her hairline as she yawned. "Good night, Hermione.”

“Goodnight Severus,” she replied, turning back to her pillow and squeezing his hand in hers.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Severus Snape!

How dare you make it appear as if my family has abandoned that girl! It was all over the paper this morning! I don’t know what that girl told you, but we haven’t heard a word from her about being overly ill or needing support. The Weasley family doesn’t need you paying for things for MY grandchild; all she would have to do is ask. 

As for you, HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER! I have never been more ashamed of you and how you have treated my son. You know he has loved you since you were kids, and for you to act as if you don’t know him and send a dreadful curse after him is shameful. I hope you think about your actions and remember who cared for you when there was no one else to take you in. It wasn’t Severus, you can be sure of that. 

I want you both to leave my family alone until you can behave like you have some sense. Stop talking about my family as well, especially if you cannot keep from your disgusting and abhorrent gossip that we’ve abandoned MY GRANDCHILD. 

Regards,

Molly Weasley

Mrs. Molly Weasley,

That you’ve not drowned in a pool of your own hypocrisy only tells me that you’ve grown too accustomed to the flavor of your own bullshit. As you seem to have forgotten how names work, allow me to remind you that my name is no longer Severus Snape, as I took my lovely wife’s name, and it is now Severus Granger. ‘That girl,' as you repeatedly refused to use her name to dehumanize her, is named Millicent Weasley née Bulstrode, your daughter-in-law, and she prefers to be called Millie. Additionally, she happens to be one of my former students, who was in my care for seven years, and you are quite aware that she is the last of her house, with no other family to speak of that is not incarcerated or dead. Which is why she came to me when the great and generous and kind Weasleys left her to suffer this forced pregnancy on her own. 

Were you aware of what your son said to her when he found out she was pregnant? Were you aware that he’s been circumventing the law so that he doesn’t have to sleep in the same house as her? Are you aware that he’s been avoiding any contact with her aside from nearly assaulting her in the street yesterday afternoon?

Why would she send word requesting aid to you when you treat her as a vessel for YOUR GRANDCHILD, as if she were not a full human being? Do you treat your own daughter this way, a womb for your family to get a grandchild with the surname Potter? If you do, how are we the ones being shameful in extending support to a young woman with no one else in the world?

I do not have to do a single thing to make your family look bad; you are doing it all on your own. 

As for your son, mark my words, if he ever puts his hand in another woman’s face in my presence again, screaming as he did, you will have to find a solid box on the mantle to keep what is left of him. 

As for my wife, Hermione refuses to read this letter you’ve sent. I did offer, but she declined. Her reasoning was something about how you lashed out at her in the past over the Daily Prophet and that she doesn’t wish to deal with you while she is studying for one of her exams. 

So I shall, with great husbandly pride, respond on her behalf. 

I think it is shameful for you, someone who was lauded for being motherly and kind to both her and Potter, to throw that back in her face. She was a child then, one whom I understand had nowhere else to go, and now you use that as a weapon against her. To what end, I cannot imagine. She cannot marry your son, as he is married, and so is she, to me. If you have intentions of him breaking up this marriage and putting her in legal harm, you will find I have not lost my ability to defend what is mine to defend. If you think you are going to hurt her by your scolding, you have thought wrong. 

The only ones who need to think about their actions, are you and your son. I feel incredibly sorry for your husband for the shame you both have brought your family, as well as your other children and their spouses. 

I promised Hermione I would not let her come to harm, and that means from your emotional abuse as well. That is, of course, the only reason that this letter from you is not making its way to Barnabas Cuffe’s desk before the evening Prophet. I will not be so generous in the future, and I will safeguard Hermione in any way possible from you.

See to it that your son never speaks to my wife again, or else.

Spitefully Yours,

Severus Granger

Severus let the wax seal stamp that he only brought out for his most scathing of letters set in the wet wax, watching as it dried. He’d used his best paper too, with weight to it, to drive home to Molly Weasley that he was serious. Even if it didn’t have that effect on her, it felt good to fight her back with words and demonstrate to whomever read the letter that he wasn’t going to tolerate how she’d tried to speak to Hermione any more than he would tolerate how she’d tried to speak to him. 

“Do I want to know what you said to her?” Hermione asked from her desk, turning in her seat to glance at the weighted seal.

Severus had not considered she would want to read his letter to Molly before he sent it off. If he had, he would have waited to seal it. He glanced at the black wax that had started to harden. It would be a little difficult to open without breaking the fresh seal, but he could always get a different envelope if he needed. He gestured toward it with an open hand, indicating that she was welcome to it. “You are free to read it if you wish, but I do not want you to upset yourself before your Trigonomagicks exam. I was not kind to her, but no more unkind to her than she was to us. Perhaps a bit more verbose than she was.”

She shook her head, grabbing her parchment of notes from her desk with a frown. “I’m already worried about this test; I don’t need to worry about her too. I don’t feel like I have the Pythagorean identities formula memorized for when we are working in the inverse and how it applies to the Gwendolyn Law of Magic Ratios.”

He blinked at her, once, twice, thinking her words over carefully. He knew the words' meaning separately, on an individual basis, but Arithmancy was never a subject he sat down and got into with some depth. His lips twisted, not enjoying the feeling of not knowing enough to offer insight to her on the subject. With a huff, he realized he was going to have to read a few of her text books if he were to carry this kind of conversation with her in the future. “I am highly educated and well read, and I wish I could be helpful to you in this, but I have no idea what you just said to me.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a little laugh. “It’s advanced arithmancy, and not the easy sort either. Trigonomagicks take a lot of different concepts from across multiple arithmancy disciplines and weave them together like a spiderweb, and sometimes, instead, you end up with a ball of equations.”

“I understand the basics; I just have no idea what the Law of Magic Ratios is or working in the inverse in regards to it,” Severus explained to her, turning in his own chair. “Would it help you to explain it to me?”

Her brown eyes widened for a moment, sparkling with joy before she nodded. “Yes, I think it would.”

Severus turned his chair to face her, hands on his knees, as he listened to her explain in depth what Gwendolyn's Law of Magic Ratios was and how there was direct calculation, inverse calculation, and static calculation in regard to it. Watching her get excited about the subject was distracting: the way her eyes would light up when she remembered a part of the concept and how she would smile as she asked him if he understood what she’d just explained and he’d told her yes. There was something utterly enthralling about her passion for the subject and the zeal she had for something he’d considered up until now absolutely dull and boring. 

After an hour, Severus could reasonably decipher between the three types, but only at the barest of levels of understanding. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that she didn’t appear as insecure in her grasp of the subject, the nerves she had before gone.

“I should head to class soon; Professor Payne is like you when it comes to tardiness,” Hermione stated, glancing at the clock on the mantle.

“Has explaining this to me helped you to better understand it?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and watching her as she gathered her school things.

Hermione glanced down at the desk, folding her notes away into her bag, and turned to him with a bright smile. Crossing over to his desk, she leaned forward, pecking him on the lips. “I think it has, thank you so much.”

“Good,” Severus told her, leaning forward to press another kiss to her lips. “Now go before I keep you, and you are late to class.”

Hermione practically skipped into the classroom, still floating on the elation from her morning conversation with Severus. It had never occurred to her that he would be willing to let her teach him something, or that she knew something that he didn’t. She’d always known that he didn’t know everything, no one did, but it was so refreshing to be reminded and to be able to be a part of expanding what he did know. That he would let her also touched her, making the flutter of the growing adoration for him more active. She wouldn’t call it anything more; she didn’t dare name it for what she knew it was. It was in part to protect herself and to prepare for the chance that they did get around this law and have to face the divorce and breakdown of this closeness. Hermione didn’t want to fully let Severus into her heart, because it would hurt all that much more when they would have to part.

“Well, if it isn’t our resident genius, ready for the exam,” Thomas Walker called out to her haughtily, draping himself over the chair directly next to her. 

Hermione was not in the mood to deal with whatever idiocy he had slapped together with his four brain cells today. “Go away, Walker.”

“I will, I will,” he vouched, kicking his feet up on the back of the chair in front of him. “But I have a question that I need your help to answer.”

Of course, she was only worth talking to if he wanted to tease her or if he needed help with coursework. She rolled her eyes as she turned to glare at him. “What do you want?”

One side of his face lifted as he smirked at her, eyes running from her head to her feet and back up. “How far along are you?”

“What?” she blurted out in surprise, uncomfortable with the way he’d just looked at her.

“With the dungeon bat’s baby,” he gestured toward her gut, still smirking like a tomcat who cornered a mouse. “Surely he has already put one in you by now, so how far along are you?”

Even if she was, which she most certainly was not, he would be the last person on the planet that she told about it. His vile and disgusting commentary about his own pregnant ‘girlfriend that I married’ was enough to show her how serious he took the whole situation they were placed in. 

Hermione bristled at his statement, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Sure, that is why you’ve put on all that weight. Come on, don’t be embarrassed,” he mocked, his face mirroring concern. “How long until we can expect a little git?”

Hermione didn’t think she’d gained that much weight. Yes, she ate more regularly with Severus, and she had gained some but not enough that she thought she looked pregnant. All her clothing still fit her perfectly fine if not a little better, and she felt a tendril of anger creep up her spine at his accusations. “I’m not pregnant, Walker; leave me alone.”

“I thought you would say that,” Walker hummed, reaching into the pocket of his cloak, pulling out a small bottle of vodka. He shook it at her with raised eyebrows and a smug smile. “Which is why I brought this. If you really aren’t pregnant, have a shot with me.”

“No.” Hermione was not an idiot, and there was no way she would trust anything he’d tried to give her after the months of torment he’d put her through. Even if it was required for the class, she would take a 0 rather than imbibe anything that came from him.

“So you are pregnant,” he announced loudly, his words echoing in the lecture hall.

“No, I’m not.” Hermione felt the gaze of the classroom shift in their direction, and she felt the heat of embarrassment warm her face as she glared at him. She pushed the bottle he had begun to push into her space away from her. “But I’m also not drinking anything you try to give me. Only a fool would accept a drink from you.”

“Come on, take the drink, Granger; prove you aren’t pregnant, and I will go away,” he taunted, pushing the bottle back against her hand. “I’ll even leave you alone for the rest of the year. Just one drink.”

Even with the prospect of getting a Walker free year, she was not going to budge on this. Hermione shook her head, pursing her lips. “No.”

An eruption of laughter escaped him, echoing through the room. “I knew it. You’ve got a baby Snape in your belly!” Walker slapped his hand against his knee, glancing at her with mock shock. “Merlin, are you afraid it is going to come out looking like him, all sour and scrunched up?"

“Fuck off, Walker,” she snapped, shifting in her seat so that she didn’t have to look at him, hoping the professor would be in the room any minute now. His behavior always stopped as soon as he thought he could be caught by Professor Payne, who didn’t find him as funny and as charming as he thought he was. There was something about his words that was poking at a worry she would rather not think about, something she’d been avoiding considering since she and Severus had gotten closer. 

“Is your baby going to call you 'mummy' or 'Miss Granger'? Oh, I bet it is oily right out of the womb too,” he crowed, laughing at his own jokes as he continued insulting her, or rather, her child that didn’t exist. 

"Oh, and what if it’s twins? You'll have three sour-looking pricks in your house, four if you count his cock.” He shoved the bottle at her again, as if to say that if she took a shot he would stop his loud comedy that only he seemed to find funny.

Hermione turned back toward him, eyes narrowed as she snarled at him, her fists clenched. “Will you shut up! I’m not fucking pregnant!”

Walker seemed to jerk his head back, pausing in his laughter to scowl at her sharply. “Well, if you won’t drink it, you can wear it,” he countered, and before Hermione could fully react, he tipped the bottle forward, lifting it as it poured all over, from the top of her head into her lap and all over her belongings. Hermione jumped in the shock of it, rubbing it quickly out of her burning eyes. 

Walker resumed his mockery, standing as he bent forward with his laughter, holding his gut and pointing at her as if she were the funniest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

She’d had enough, and consequences be damned, he was never going to bother her again. Fury filled her chest, and she reached for her wand, but it had clattered against the floor when she’d stood abruptly. Her eyes and nose burned, her skin was sticky, and she had reached the breaking point that she’d been trying to avoid. Wandless and unwilling to bend to pick it up, Hermione punched him in the gut, sending him backward, half falling back into the chair behind him.

“You bitch!” he roared, raising his hand up to slap her as he scrambled back to his feet. 

Hermione braced for the impact, clenching her fist ready to hit him back as she leaned down to snatch her wand from the floor. Before his blow landed, a blast of white light crossed the classroom, snatching Walker and flinging him bodily through the shut wooden doors of the classroom. The lecture hall thundered with the spell and with the sound of the heavy wooden doors flying all the way back against the wall and then snapping sharply closed.

Turning her gaze in the direction of the spell, Professor Payne was standing just inside the entrance to the classroom, her wand out with a completely stoic expression, even as her shoulders raised and fell with each inhale and exhale as if she had run there. The whole room was scared into silence as Hermione stood there dripping what she hoped was only liquor onto the floor around her.

The click-clack of Professor Payne’s shoes as she crossed to her podium sounded like hammers against the stone floor for how quiet the room was. Hermione felt her heart in her throat, certain that she’d just earned herself an expulsion. Already, her carefully planned-out mastery path was turning to ash in her mouth, aided by the small amount of liquor that had pervaded her lips.

“As I warned you all earlier in the year,” the professor started, sharply cutting her eyes across the gathered class. “I will not tolerate that sort of behavior. Mister Walker is hereby banned from my classroom, and since this is a required course for his mastery, he has just forfeited that as well. Would anyone else like to join him?”

The response from the gathered class was deafening silence. It was as if every person in the classroom were holding their breath, Hermione included, unsure what would constitute wanting to be expelled. Outside the classroom, a commotion could be heard, but no one in the room dared to move as she leveled them each with a searching stare. The moment felt like forever before she spoke again, the quiet words like a cacophony as they echoed back to her. “I didn’t think so.” 

Professor Payne set her folio of work on her podium with a thud that reverberated through the room. Her eyes fell on Hermione, and she gestured for her to approach the front of the class as she spoke directly to her. “Missus Granger, would you like to sit this exam out and make it up later due to this incident, or would you like a few minutes to clean yourself up and proceed with it.”

Hermione exhaled the breath she was holding as she carefully took the steps down to her professor, feeling mortified fear on top of her anger at Walker. She didn’t want to miss the exam, especially not after watching the professor eject the other student from her class. It would mean he got to her; it would mean that someone else might think they could shake her too by acting this way, and it might make the professor think she wasn’t as serious as she acted about her education. “I will sit the exam if you would give me just a moment to dry off.”

“Very well, you have five minutes,” Professor Payne informed her, turning back to the class. “Now, for the rest of you, you will take the next few moments to review your notes.”

Hermione cast a drying spell on her clothing and her hair, trying to get the stink of it off of her. Her skin still had that sticky residue of dried liquor, and it would likely only go away with a hot shower, but at least she was no longer dripping over the lecture hall. 

Professor Payne snapped her wrist out, her wand flicking toward the seat Hermione was in; the bottle that had clattered to the floor flew toward her other open hand. She sniffed the bottle with distaste and cast a spell on the bottle. Her eyes narrowed and her lips drew into a disappointed frown. “It is merely vodka; I don’t get to expel him for attempting to poison you.”

The professor turned to her, examining her with intense scrutiny. “Do you feel ill in any way? Did he do anything other than pour this on you and disrupt my class?”

“No, just that," Hermione swallowed back, feeling guilty for her part in the disruption. “I am sorry for disrupting your class, Professor Payne.”

“You did nothing I would not do myself in your shoes,” the professor replied, a serious expression on her face. “However, I would advise not punching other students, or dueling them, in the future; it could go on your permanent record, and you are far too bright for that. I would hate to have to remove you from class as well.”

"Yes, Professor,” she nodded, taking what she understood to be a reprimand to heart. “I won’t fight anyone else as long as I am left alone.”

The professor nodded at her, gesturing for her to return to her seat. “Go clean your area and we shall begin.”

Hermione made her way up to where she’d been sitting, looking mournfully at her carefully color-coded notes and parchment. With a cleaning spell she was able to get most of the liquor up, but her notes would have to be redone if she were to use them for future study. As soon as the area was as clean as she was going to get it with a scourgify, Hermione took her seat.

“Now that we are all settled, clear your desks and prepare for your exam; cheating will not be tolerated,” Professor Payne warned, sending their exams to their desks with a flick of her wand.

It was hard to focus on the work before her, no matter how hard she tried. It was as if all the knowledge she’d been cramming to remember had leaked out of her mind in the wake of her anger, and now even her body was working against her. There was a piece of hair that was sticking to the side of her neck; her skin felt slick, and the heat of embarrassment had not yet fully subsided. Still, Hermione was not about to give up or ask for help, so she did the best she could with what she could recall and made educated guesses on the remainder of the questions. It was clearly not her best work, and she revised her answers three different times in the hopes that she would land on the right answer. 

She left that test feeling a level of despair she hadn’t had over an exam in a long time. She was prepared; Severus had helped her review, and it had all been offset by an idiot with less brains than Ron. She had planned to attend the study hall, but she couldn’t bear to have her skin this sticky and itchy any longer. It wasn’t a hair wash day, but she was going to have to wash it anyway to rid it of all the leftover vodka. 

Hermione took the floo home, her mind still swirling on every equation she thought she missed and how angry and embarrassed that he’d made her.

“How did your exam go?” Severus called from the stairwell, stepping out of the hidden door with a concerned look on his face. “You are home earlier than I expected.”

Her shoulders dropped as she set her bag down by her desk before glancing at him with frustration. “You will not believe what happened in class today.”

“I am sure I can stretch my imagination. What happened?” Severus replied with an amused expression.

Sucking in a breath and pulling the sticky piece of hair away from her skin again, she huffed angrily. “Walker poured alcohol all over me!”

In an instant, all of Severus’ amusement was gone from his face, and in two large steps he was in front of her, searching her face with concern. “Was it only alcohol? Are you alright? Do you feel as if you’ve been poisoned?” he asked in rapid succession as he reached out to her wrist, touching her pulse point.

“It was only vodka; Professor Payne checked it herself,” she told him, thinking that this was not the time to add in that the professor seemed disappointed that it wasn’t poison so she could do more to her classmate.

Severus’ face hardened as his other hand moved to push the hair at her temples back. “And what was done to him? Was he punished for this?”

“He was expelled from the class and won’t be able to complete his mastery since she is the only one who teaches it,” Hermione explained, pulling at her shirt, which was still slightly clinging to her skin. “She also probably concussed him for how hard he hit those doors.”

He was not amused by this add-on as she thought he would be, and he had the expression of deep confusion, his forehead furrowed as he spoke. “Why did he do this? What would have possessed him to dump vodka on you?”

To understand why he had thought it was a great idea was not something she could do; she had far too many brain cells to stoop to that level, but she did know what he’d said. Her throat tightened in anger and unshed tears at the humiliation he’d put her through, making her voice squeak slightly. “He was trying to force me to drink it, to prove that I was pregnant if I wouldn’t drink it.”

Shadows of the furious Severus from her past crossed his face, black eyes so full of wrath that he could have ignited a fire with his gaze as his lividity spread over his face. “He did this.” Severus paused, drawing a deep breath in before continuing. “To try to force you to admit to a pregnancy and would not accept your no.”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, exhaling as the events came fully to the front of her mind. “And when I wouldn’t drink it, he started in on your looks. I told him off, and then he poured it over my head. My wand had fallen to the floor, so I punched him in the gut. I was so humiliated and mortified at that moment; I wasn’t thinking.”

Severus took a step back from her, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He let that breath go, clenching his hands at his side, and drew in another like it. When he looked at her after the third such breath, the anger was not as obvious on his face. “Are you alright? That is my priority at this moment, your well-being," he said as if he were telling both of them this.

“Yes, just upset and gross, and I need a shower.” Hermione shuddered at the sticky sensation on her skin. “I also think I failed the exam because he made me so upset.”

He dismissed the notion with his hand, shaking his head. “You can retake it.”

“I get one retake a semester,” Hermione argued, “and I don’t want to waste it when I can use it for the final.”

His eyes went to the fireplace and narrowed as he clenched his fists, stepping around her. “I will be right back; take your shower.”

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked, concerned by his demeanor.

“To find Thomas Walker,” Severus said, clicking his tongue against his teeth in distaste, “and make sure he never thinks of touching my wife again.”

“No! Don’t, Severus." Hermione caught his arm, pulling him back toward her. As much as she would have loved to know what Severus would do to him, it wasn’t worth him going to jail and leaving her alone. The thought of being without him immediately sent a jarring sensation of fear and heartache through her. “He is a stupid boy, with no brains and he is trying to make up for it by being a prat and a bully. He isn't worth it. I need you here and not in Azkaban.”

Severus glanced at her and then the fireplace, letting out a heavy resentful sigh of defeat. “Between Weasley and Walker, I would like to put you in a bubble to protect you from idiots.” He paused his thoughts, shaking his head and giving her an apologetic look. “I won't, of course.”

“I know you won't," she agreed, letting him go. “I’m going to take a shower; please don’t go after him.”

“Only because you need me here,” Severus grumbled. He walked across the sitting room, picking up a brown-wrapped parcel from the table beside her side of the sofa. “Millie sent you her manuscript.”

Thank Merlin there was something good about this day, Hermione thought. “Did she? I’ll read it after my shower,” she told him as she made her way upstairs. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Once she was finally showered and in her house clothes, Hermione curled up on the couch with Millie’s handwritten first draft of her novel. It was the first time she’d gotten to read a book before it was published, and there was something exciting about it. Also, Hermione understood that there was some manner of trust that Millie was extending to her in letting her read this, and she was not going to miss out on the chance to build upon it. Unwilling to mark on the stack of bound paper, Hermione had a parchment on the side table where she would make notes or questions she had for Millie when she saw her next. 

Just as Hermione was getting to the climax of the main story arc, the Evening Prophet flew in through the floo, landing on the floor in front of her with a weighty thud. It was enough to draw her attention, and she glanced up at it and did a double take because her name was on the cover. 

Marriage Law Success! Baby Granger On The Way: Inside Source Confirms

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as she stared at it. There was no inside source, because it was an absolute falsehood. 

“Severus!” she called out, putting the manuscript to the side as she bent down to pick up the paper. She unfolded it, scanning over the contents of the article for answers. It wasn’t until the Prophet mentioned that it was an unnamed student who had provided the information, a close peer of Hermione's, that she knew immediately what had happened.

Severus came up the stairs from his lab, leaning his head through the open hidden doorway. “I assume you’ve good reason for bellowing for me rather than walking down to speak to me,” he asked with a hint of irritation.

“I’m going to kill him!” Hermione announced, getting to her feet with the paper clutched in her hands in front of her. 

He stepped fully into the sitting room, dark eyes full of questions. “Whom are we killing?”

"Thomas Walker went to the Prophet!” she announced, shoving the paper into his hands so that he could see what had been said. 

He caught it, turning it around, and his own eyes went wide. “Oh?”

She could not stand still, and so she turned away from him, pacing the sitting room back and forth as she ran over the article in her head. The quiet worry she’d been harboring quivered in her stomach as she scrunched her face up in indignation. “He told them I’m pregnant! He said that I said I was pregnant and that was why I couldn’t drink a shot with him!”

“Are you still sure he isn’t worth me throttling?” Severus asked calmly.

Hermione turned on him in disbelief. 

How was he this calm?

Did he not understand what this meant, what this could cause to happen? 

“The world thinks I’m pregnant, Severus!” she stressed, pushing her fingers through her hair as she turned to pace the length of the room again. 

“We know you aren’t, and that is what matters,” he assured her as he raised an eyebrow at her in confusion. 

Just because they knew that didn't mean that it wouldn’t have an effect on their lives. The Ministry would surely get involved, and then it could expose that they have never had sex and that there is no chance she is pregnant. A million scenarios of how this would add yet another layer to this nightmare of a situation screamed through her mind, each possibility more constricting than the last. “What if they make me go to a different kind of appointment? Or is there a different test? What if they can tell we’ve not had sex? What if they make us…?” Hermione stopped, feeling the weight of her worry and fear and panic settling into her body like an electric charge. She met Severus’ confused gaze, shaking her head vigorously. “I do not want to go to any other tests or appointments. I don’t want them to have a reason.”

“Hermione, breathe; you are not in danger.” Severus set the paper aside on his side table, reaching for her and holding her arms so that she could not pace away from him. “I will not let them make you do any other tests; we cannot assume that the Ministry will act on gossip alone, and you do not have another appointment for two more weeks.”

She heard him, but words did nothing to soothe the ever-expanding worry that had now seen the light of day. It had been like a devil's snare, coiling and growing in the darkness that she refused to acknowledge, but now it was there, exposed, and it writhed through her, wrapping around her throat as she voiced it in a panicked whisper, “I don’t want to have a baby, Severus.”

“Hermione, you aren’t pregnant," Severus repeated in obvious confusion as he tried to sooth her worry.

But it was too late; the door to her worries had been thrown open, and in the dying scream of her sense of security, there was only fear. 

All the ways that they would force her to get pregnant crossed her mind, each one more horrific than the next. There were spells, potions, and drugs that would make it so that they would have little choice, and Hermione did not put it past them to do whatever they wanted to get what they wanted from her. Hermione grabbed his elbows, trying to get him to understand why they were in danger and how this would ruin everything. “But they are going to force us; at some point, I am going to have to be pregnant.” Hermione sobbed as she began to hyperventilate. “And I don’t want—I don’t want to have a baby in a world like this, even if I did want a baby.” She felt like she was no longer in control of the words spilling out of her as they raced through her, exposing something she’d never made clear before. “But I don't; I don’t want to have a baby.”

“I understand that you do not want a child, and we will solve those issues when they arise. I need you to focus on the fact that you are not currently being forced to have a baby and not panic.” Severus stared at her as if he had a live mandrake in his hands and he’d come unprepared, with no earmuffs. His shock and confusion were clear as he blinked, shaking his head softly as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I do not understand why this is your reaction.”

“Because they are going to know, Severus! They are going to know and they are going to force us,” she warned, her voice warbling as she tried to impress on him that they were in danger. Hermione felt as if she were in danger, as if at any moment they would burst through the door like they had burst into her classroom and drag them both out to ensure that there was a child inside of her. And if there wasn't, they were going to forcefully put one there. 

How did he not see? 

How was he not panicking?

His gaze went distant for a moment, and then he drew in a deep breath, the confusion gone as he stared deeply into her eyes. Severus blinked and exhaled sharply, as if he were coming up for air from underwater before he drew her closer to him, still holding her arms. “Hermione, listen to me. No one is going to come here and force us into anything. We will not have a baby, especially if you don’t want a baby. No matter what the Ministry does, do you understand me?” He gripped her arms more firmly, holding her gaze. “No matter what they do, I will not force you to have a baby, and I will not let them drag you away from here. I will ship you off to Mister Krum for safety before that happens and face the consequences on my own. I promise you.”

She shook her head; she wanted to believe him, but she knew, deep down in her soul, that he was just as powerless as she was, that they were two people fighting something that was bigger than anything they had ever faced before. "But what if they force us, like you said they might if they realize that we aren’t complying?"

“I will not let that happen,” he vowed with an authoritative but gentle tone. 

“We couldn’t stop them from making us get married to each other,” she argued, trying to get him to see. “What if they corner us again?”

“We couldn’t stop that,” he agreed with regret in his voice but continued with the same resolute tone from before, “But we will stop them from forcing you to have a baby. I don’t care what I have to do; I will not allow it.” Severus drew her in by her arms against his chest, wrapping her into a crushing embrace. 

She crashed into him, burying her face into his shoulder, her arms locking around him like a vice.

“Hermione, trust me to protect you,” Severus breathed into her hair as he held her. “I will do everything I can to make this world right for you; please trust me.”

How long they stood there like that, Hermione didn’t know. All she knew was that after a long period of being held tightly by him, him swaying them both gently, her breathing evened out and the racing thoughts stopped. It left her exhausted and feeling as if she were completely emptied of emotion. The reality of the situation sank into her: that she was safe in Severus’ arms, that it wasn’t as dire as she had immediately thought it was. 

The worry wasn’t gone completely; it had slithered back into its hole in her gut, sated by her panicked outburst for now. 

Hermione hoped it wouldn’t have cause to rear its head again in the future. 

She leaned her head back, the fabric of his shirt peeling away from where she’d cried a wet stain into it. 

“I didn’t mean to react like that,” she whispered, feeling some small shame for freaking out over the paper. “I don’t know why I had such a stupid reaction to it,” she lied, hoping to smooth over that he’d had to anchor her into reality amid her worry.

“I do not feel as if your reaction was stupid,” Severus murmured into her hair, still holding her to his chest as he released the tension in his arms. “Unexpected, but not stupid or unwarranted. It is easy for me to forget how traumatic this ordeal has been for you when we have eased into a calm life together. I had not considered how deep your aversion to children may be.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to have a baby with you, either,” she confessed, hoping to keep him from thinking that it was only him that she had this objection with. “I don’t want to have a baby, full stop. I have so much more to do with my life right now, and I don’t want to become a mum and leave it all behind. I know I will be expected to leave it all behind.”

“I know,” he comforted her, his forehead pressed against the crown of her head. “I promise, you won’t have a baby, unless you decide to, Hermione. I do not make promises I do not intend to keep.”

“I believe you,” she said, nodding against his chin and running her hands up and down his side. “Thank you for this.”

“You are welcome,” he accepted, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. “I need to finish what I was working on in the lab, but I do not want to leave you if you need me.”

She felt even guiltier that she’d drawn him away from his work, and she pushed her arm up between them, wiping her face with it as she took more distance from him. “I will be fine; I still have Millie’s manuscript to finish.”

“I shall be as quick as is feasible,” Severus promised, taking a step back from her. He grabbed the newspaper from the end table, taking it with him under his arm as he went back downstairs.

Hermione sank into the sofa, leaning her head back against the headrest and staring at the drab grey ceiling. While calmer, the fears were still there, the worry of what the world would force her into. Exhaling, she tried not to think about it, tried to force her mind to think of anything else. Turning her gaze to the sidetable, she resumed her reading with much less enthusiasm than she had before. 

Crookshanks climbed up into her lap, tenderizing her thighs as he marched in a circle before he plopped down with a heavy sigh as if he had the hardest job in the world. She stroked her fingers through his fur, letting his soft purr settle some of the lingering anxiety. It was hard for her to focus on the words in front of her, the strong desire to sleep in the wake of the emotional upheaval growing by the moment and only increasing with her cat’s presence.

It was not long after that Severus resurfaced from the lab. He sank into the sofa beside her. “I’ve had a thought,”

“Just the one?” Hermione asked, trying to be lighthearted so that he would not worry about her after the outburst she’d had earlier. 

Severus snorted. “This is a little serious for that well-timed comeback, but I appreciate it.”

“Serious?” Hermione questioned, lowering the stack of papers to look at him. “What did you think about?”

Severus’ lips pursed, and he turned so that he was leaning his back against the arm of the sofa. “What if we let them think you are pregnant?”

Her throat constricted in a ghost of the earlier panic. “Why would we do that?”

“For a short time, a week, maybe right up until your appointment. And then we rather publicly announce that you’ve lost it,” he offered with no other explanation.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, setting what she’d been reading down as she tried to find the reasoning in his train of thought. “What good would come from faking a miscarriage?”

“I’ve said from the beginning that public opinion will have a large sway in this; it is only because of lackluster resistance in the beginning that any of this gained traction,” Severus explained pensively. “And if we don’t control the narrative, it will be controlled for us as it has been. It will be a way to control why they pity us and use it in our favor.” He rested his elbow against the back of the couch, rubbing around his eye with his fingers. “Additionally, it may give you some more time between your appointments.”

When he laid it out like that, she could see the reasoning, but there were still so many things that could go wrong. “Won’t they have some way to know that I was never pregnant?”

“It is unlikely, but if they do, they will be hesitant to claim it false if we are publicly treating it as if you were,” he replied contemplatively, glancing at her with a frown. “Looking at the paper, they are treating this as another triumph over us; we can turn that triumph into a tragedy.”

If it were any other subject, Hermione didn’t think she’d have as much apprehension as she did now, because his plan was sound. There was just this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that this was the kind of lie that could hurt someone, even hurt them. “I don’t know if a miscarriage would be a good thing to lie about; this feels like making light of something serious.”

“I am not making light of this, Hermione; please forgive me if it feels that way." Severus let out a despondent sigh. “It is a serious and grim subject matter, and it is only because of the situation that we find ourselves in that I am suggesting it. The Prophet is not going to turn around and print a retraction or admit their sources were wrong. There is going to be an assumption that you are pregnant regardless of what we do, and they will only assume that we are hiding it.”

“But in two weeks I would be able to prove that I am not pregnant,” Hermione countered, wondering if the press would have to retract it then if she were able to prove it. She worried her hands into Crookshanks' fur, who gave a disgruntled meow. Apologetically, she scratched under his chin, but it seemed he was no longer comfortable in her lap, leaping from her with an angry flick of his tail in her direction. 

They both watched as he sauntered over to his bowl and began to crunch his food loudly.

Severus shook his head, apprehension drawing his features tight. “And when it comes out that you are not, there is a chance they may assume we’ve done something illegal or nefarious to cease this false pregnancy. This gives me a way to protect you from those speculations and exert some power over what is being printed about us in the future. We are not deliberately lying; we are taking advantage of an existing narrative to suit us instead of them. Think of it more as malicious compliance."

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he had a point; the damage had been done, and if they didn’t have a reasonable explanation for why there was no baby now, she could see how Skeeter would twist it into something that would put more scrutiny on them. An uneasy feeling settled over her as she admitted to herself that this was the best option out of a group of terrible ones.

“If we were to do this, what would we have to do to let them believe it?” Hermione asked, hoping he had a plan because she didn’t have the first idea how they would pull this off.

“If I were Rita Skeeter,” Severus postulated, eyes going distant in thought before he spoke, “my next step would be to twist yesterday's outing with Millie. I can see her saying that while we were helping Millie, we were also using it as a cover to be able to window shop for our own baby essentials.”

Hermione considered his statement and realized that it could have easily been construed to look like that. Millie and Hermione had made a point to talk about her pregnancy loudly in many places; anyone who overheard them would believe an article like that from Skeeter in a heartbeat. “We were talking about her pregnancy a lot. Anyone who overheard us would be able to lend credibility to that story if Skeeter went searching for sources.”

He agreed with a hum, tapping his thigh with his other hand. “They will assume we were being secretive. Which means we will now have to react as if the secret is out against our will. What would you do if you actually were pregnant in this position?” he asked with a curious expression.

Beating back the discomfort in her gut at such a situation, Hermione considered what she would do if the Prophet had broken the news of her pregnancy before she was ready to tell anyone. As she was with every instance of the public impeding on her life, she imagined she’d be furious and also concerned for the loved ones who hadn’t been told yet. There were at least three people she could think of who would have deserved to know before anyone else, and not getting a chance to know would add to her upset. “I’d be almost apoplectic that they broke the news first, before I could tell my friends.”

“As would I,” Severus agreed, nodding. “My first action would be to attack the paper before I could get my hands on the source. This is too personal for a letter; I would make a personal visit myself to the Prophet, reaming Skeeter and Cuffe out for the dangerous stress it would have put you under. I would demand names of who told them and make it very clear that I intend to make that person suffer.”

“My first action would be to reach out to those who I didn’t get to tell yet,” Hermione concluded, sinking into the hypothetical, because it was easier to think of it as a scenario and give herself some distance from it. “I’d want to tell Viktor, of course, and Harry and Neville, but I don’t want to lie to them about this.” 

“Then don’t,” Severus stressed, shaking his head. “Let the paper do that for you; if they ask, tell them you are so upset that you aren’t ready to talk about any of it. A lie by omission: don’t deny or confirm the pregnancy so they cannot be culpable.”

It made sense to keep them out of the loop if she was really devastated, and they would give her the space if she asked for it. Well, Viktor would be a little more insistent, but he’d not push when she set a clear boundary. This plan was becoming a more and more viable option as they discussed it. “So, then what?”

"We will be reclusive for a few days; you will still go to your classes, but I would recommend you avoid any extracurriculars or anything that would be considered a hazard to someone expecting. If pressed about it, deny as you did with Walker." Severus said thoughtfully, tapping his forehead before sitting up straighter, as if he’d come to a conclusion. “When we are ready, I return to the editor's office in a right snit. I accuse them of having a hand in infanticide, and the pressure and the stress from the article caused you to lose our child. If the Ministry has tried to involve themselves too, I will claim that their investigation is also to blame, laying it at the Minister’s feet." He paused, shifting his jaw to the side in thought before he continued, “I am sure I can find several creative ways to point the blame at them. You had fears over the invasiveness of the exam; you were worried about your own safety and the strain of trying to keep it secret until it was farther along—all reasons that the paper and the Ministry caused this. All reasons to turn this into how they are the un-doers of their own victory.”

If he’d been any other man, she would have been surprised that he’d come up with this in the space of an hour, or even less, as it seemed as if he were coming up with it as they spoke. As it was, Hermione was both impressed with the depth in which he’d considered this and concerned for what she would have to do at this junction of the plan. “What would I have to do?”

“Nothing extreme, in fact, your silence and subtlety would speak louder than any action you could take,” Severus ventured with sudden clarity. “You would have to take a few days off from your classes, ask for bereavement, and not leave the house. It will contrast how we have been since the wedding. I will make lone public outings, shopping for us both, to highlight that you are suffering a private pain.”

Having to not act like something was wrong and just stay in the house was a lot easier than the theatrics Severus was suggesting that he would do. Taking a step back and mulling it all over, Severus’ idea to turn this ordeal in their favor had some merit. There was a chance that some people could be upset, but on the whole, it could shame the Ministry and that shame would be a boon. “Do you think it could work?”

“I do,” Severus nodded, the serious expression still on his face. “I think it will put one large chink in the armor of this law and will keep the press from speculating about you in the future about a pregnancy, lest they want me in their office again.”

There was still a sense of apprehension in her gut, and Hermione knew she couldn’t readily agree to this right now. She wanted to think more about what the consequences could be, about who could be hurt if they did this that they didn’t want to hurt. “I need to think about this before I say yes or no.”

“I have no desire to rush you, and if you don’t want to do this, we won’t. But I will caution that if we are going to act on this, it will need to be done quickly," Severus explained. "We are not the sort to not act out in anger when we’ve been wounded.”

He had another very good point. Hermione reached out and took his hand, holding it firmly as she spoke. “I will have a decision one way or another tomorrow."

“Then we will no longer discuss it unless you need to,” he agreed, cupping his other hand over hers, “And whatever you decide to do, I will abide by it.”

A pleasant sensation ghosted over Severus' skin, something soft tracing over his face followed by the obvious press of lips against the skin just below his ear. He drew in a deep breath as the sensation roused him from slumber, and he cracked his eyes open to find his view obscured by a mountain of curls and the edge of a lightly freckled forehead. Bright brown eyes met his as she lifted her face, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. “Good morning,” she murmured against his skin.

“Good morning,” he yawned, consciousness coming to him slowly. He’d begun to sleep much better now that he was no longer sleeping in the other bedroom. His nightmares had also subsided, which made him all the more grateful for sleeping in bed with her. Not that he expected to be allowed in her bed every night. Each night he would stand at the threshold of her door and ask if she was sure she wanted him in there, and every night so far, she’d said yes.

Hermione shifted in the bed, her leg wrapping over his. The sheet tugged, and the uncomfortable sensation made him instantly painfully aware of two things. One, he was hard, and two, her thigh was inches from said hard-on and had brushed against it, so there was no way to conceal it. 

"Forgive me,” he hoarsely whispered, twisting his hips so that there was greater distance between her and his traitorous genitals. Immediately, apologies began to pour out of him as he extracted himself from her embrace. “It is a natural biological function. It is not indicative of my arousal or not.” The moment the words came out of his mouth, he realized that she may have taken it that he didn’t find her attractive, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Not that you are not attractive, merely this is not a response to your obvious attractiveness.” Severus’ sleep-addled brain rambled like a fool as his legs got twisted in the sheets, preventing his shameful exodus. 

He’d been diligent to get up before her in order to prevent this exact scenario, but it seemed the combination of the new mattress and her presence had him sleeping deeper and longer than he’d anticipated.

Her hands were on his forearm, holding him firmly, soft laughter escaping her. “I know about morning wood, Severus, I am not offended by it,” she assured him, smiling as she kept him from fleeing.

Severus swallowed, taking in a breath in the hopes of quelling both his embarrassment and his body's unwelcome rigidity. “I have endeavored to get out of bed before you wake to prevent you from assuming that I expect you to do anything about it."

“I have trust in the promise you made me that first night here, Severus,” Hermione confessed, sliding closer to him on the bed and squeezing his arm comfortingly. “Where you promised me that we would be doing nothing but sleeping in this house for the foreseeable future and that we would not be doing anything I did not want to.” Her eyes trailed down toward his groin and then back up to his face as she shook her head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t think that you have expectations for me because your body wakes with a hard-on in the morning.”

"Good." He collapsed into the bed in relief, still trying to untangle his legs.

Hermione slipped against his side again, draping her arm over his chest as she looked up at him. “If I were afraid of your hard-on, I would have said something or at least not cuddled up to you. I trust your self-control."

“Thank you for your vote of confidence,” he exhaled, closing his eyes and thinking of anything other than the warm woman pressed against him. Her talking about his bodily reaction did not help in urging it to stand down. “Can we please stop talking about said function of my body so that I can get it to subside?"

“Of course." She nodded against him, placing her palm against his chest as if to get up. “Do you need me to stop cuddling you?”

“No.” Severus wrapped his hand around her wrist, drawing her arm back across his chest. If she were willing to let him get himself under control, he would like the chance to lie in bed with her for a little longer. “I would like to lie in with you, if you don’t mind.”

“I have thought about what you said, about us letting them believe I am pregnant,” she confessed, sighing, “and I agree, it will be a solid plan, but we have to tell one person.”

Severus opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. “Who?”

“Millie,” she explained, her mouth dipping into a worried frown. “I don’t want her to feel like we did use her for the outing or for her to be needlessly upset about a fake miscarriage in a way that could hurt her or the baby.”

A smile crept unbidden to his lips at her consideration and care for the other woman. Each day it was as if she were showing him how much more heart she really had, how thoughtful and considerate the woman he previously thought reckless and foolhardy was. Adoration swelled in his chest, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he consented to letting Millie into their plan. “I agree to let her know. She is trustworthy and will be able to keep it a secret.” Severus leaned his head back on the edge of the pillow, shifting so that he wasn’t as close to the edge of his bed as his attempt at escape had brought him. “I will reach out to her before I head out for the day.”

Hermione curled into his side, her shoulder under his arm as she tucked her nose against the side of his neck. He curled his arm around her back, savoring the sensation of lying there with her while breathing deeply. He could feel his body relaxing in the peaceful silence of lying there with her, almost as if he were falling asleep again holding her like this. 

Suddenly, a jolt of pleasure ran down his spine as Hermione placed kisses against the sensitive scar tissue on the side of his neck. His hard-fought relaxation was for naught at that moment, and he jerked his head in her direction, his nose against hers as he mock-glared at her. “That is not helping in the slightest.”

“Sorry,” she giggled contritely. “I could not help myself.”

Severus sighed, rolling his eyes at her, resisting the urge to call her a tease even if he desperately wanted to as he began to kick off the sheets. There was no way he would be able to resolve this while in bed with her.

Crookshanks decided at that moment to stand at the door and start to meow loudly. It was not one meow, but rather a series of meows that, if one squinted, were like a song. Severus sat up, his back to her as he regarded the furry creature with scrutiny. It was not in distress; it was pressing its body against the door and then looking back at the bed as it continued to sing the song of its people. "Beasty is insistent; I assume he is hungry.”

“It is Crookshanks' world; we are all just living in it,” Hermione laughed as she rolled onto the bed beside him. She pressed a kiss to the side of his head and then slipped off the mattress to her feet, adjusting her oversized shirt. “I will get up and feed him while you sort yourself.”

“I will be downstairs in a few moments to make us breakfast,” he told her, leaning forward to protect his dignity as much as possible with his arms crossed over his lap. 

She cracked the door open, letting the small tyrant out of the room. “Actually, I’ll make us breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

“I would like that,” Severus confessed, wondering what she would make. 

Hermione smiled at him, the kind of smile that reached her eyes and made her face light up before she turned and followed her cat out of the room and down the stairs. 

Listening to them, he waited until he could no longer hear the crying of the obviously starving creature before he got up and made his way into the bathroom, unmistakably in need of a shower.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

As soon as he stepped out of the floo, he exhaled, letting the facade of vehement rage and aggression fall away. He’d spent most of the day terrorizing Diagon Alley, which, while it had some rather amusing moments, was exhausting. His shoulders slumped as he rolled his neck, removing his thick overcoat to tuck into the cloak closet.

He heard Hermione move in the kitchen, and he glanced up as she stepped out, curiosity making her brown eyes bright. “How did it go?”

Severus snorted in amusement. He was tired, but seeing her bolstered his energy reserves as he shared with her the best part of the whole day. “I nearly gave Barnabas Cuffe a heart attack; Rita Skeeter barricaded herself in her office, and they had to call the Aurors to get me to leave peacefully.” Severus closed the closet door, smirking as he crossed the room. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, his hands smoothing down her side. “All in all, not my best work, but surely they don’t need to know that. How about you? Did your classmates give you any trouble?”

“Walker was nowhere to be seen,” Hermione promised, a mischievous smile tucking at the corner of her mouth. “Someone speculated loudly that you’d put him in a hearse, another said that he’d gone into hiding so that you don’t, and everyone else spent the day trying to guess how far along I was.” 

The brightness of Hermione’s expression darkened, her lips twisting as she wrapped her arms around him in a firm embrace. Severus slipped his arms around her, holding her to his chest as he smoothed his hand up and down his back. “I sense something else happened?”

“Neville tried to get me to talk about it: about you, the pregnancy, if I still felt safe, and if I thought you were going to hurt me and now our baby.” He heard her voice crack slightly as she continued. “He was insistent to the point of almost making me mad, he thinks that now that ‘you have what you want’ that I am in danger and you are going to stop being kind to me. I had to yell at him to get him to stop stressing me out while I was trying to mind my Mandragoria. He made the poor thing drop two of her leaves.”

Leaning his head against the top of her head, he frowned, knowing that some of her friends would behave poorly in the wake of this news, but being helpless to prevent it. There was no easy or good way that he could stop Longbottom’s speculation. While he understood why the man resented him so deeply, especially because that resentment was partially mutual, Severus hated that it put strain on Hermione’s relationship with her friend.

A small laugh escaped her in the pensive quiet that had fallen while he held her, and he leaned back, now his turn to be curious. 

“I also got called a ‘bat incubator,'" she chuckled again, shaking her head in befuddlement. “Which makes me wonder if the person who said it understands where humans and bats come from. I didn’t have the energy or desire to be the one to tell them that bats don’t lay eggs, that they don’t need incubators.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I suspect they may be from the Hagrid years of Magical Creatures, although Kettleburn might have also not given them a solid understanding of how mammals work either.”

The morose darkness that had swept over her subsided in the wake of his comment.

“Did you speak to Millie?” she questioned as she glanced up at him.

Severus had made it a point to stop by her home first thing in the morning. To his great relief, not only did Millie not believe that he had been using her, but she had also already assumed this was some part of their ‘plan’ to move against the Ministry. 

It was very clear that she was surprised when he confessed that this was simply an unexpected twist they were accommodating. That the unknown source was a classmate that had attacked Hermione that same day in her classes, and this was either done out of retaliation for that student’s dismissal from the course or it had been part of a ploy from the Prophet to get an inside scoop. 

Millie had been more than ready to take on the task of going after Walker once she heard this, promising that as soon as she had her child, she’d hunt the man down and make him suffer on Severus’ behalf. She was infuriated to hear that he’d poured liquor over Hermione’s head in her classroom. Severus considered for a moment that maybe Millicent was thinking of doing it on Hermione’s behalf more than his. 

Severus had been only slightly uncomfortable as he explained what they intended to do, how they intended to fake the loss of a non-existent pregnancy to turn the Ministry’s crowing over their prized breeding stock being fruitful into something terrible. While she didn’t seem as emotionally affected as Hermione had been by the plan, Severus made sure to stress that this was not something they were making light of, but rather that it was the only way to work inside the corner they’d been placed in. That in order for everything to work, it needed to remain a secret that Hermione was not pregnant and that this loss was not real, but that Hermione had been adamant that the plan could not go forward without informing Millie and getting her promise of secrecy.

Millie had taken the news in stride, surprised even that Hermione had thought of her at all to tell, and agreed to keep their secret.

“Millie took the news well, especially because I went to her directly,” Severus summed the interaction up, not thinking that Hermione needed all the details of the conversation unless she asked for them. 

“Good,” Hermione exclaimed with relief. “I didn’t want her to think she was used or for her to get hurt by this.”

“She agreed with our plan once I explained it to her. She did also offer to take care of our Walker problem in six months; she seemed eager to have someone to beat up,” Severus confessed as he reflected on the moment. Maybe it might not have been so much for someone attacking Hermione as much as it was that Millicent was bored since she wasn’t working.

“You didn’t tell her she could, did you?” she asked, eyebrows lifted and mouth agape.

He could tell by the expression that she thought he’d given Millie the permission to wipe Walker from the earth. While it would have been easy to enlist the Hit Wizard’s help, Severus had his own personal idea of what he was going to do, if he ever got a chance to lay eyes on the man who insulted Hermione this gravely. “I told her that her services would be a reserve plan for after what I intend to do when I find him.”

“Did the paper confirm to you it was actually him?" she pondered, frowning. “There was a whole classroom of students there.”

That had not been something that Severus had been able to get out of the elderly editor of the Daily Prophet. “No, he did not, but only because Baranabas went down, and I was not trying to kill the man. Yet.”

Surprise, worry, and then realization raced across her features as she took a step back, examining him. “You mean he almost actually had a heart attack because of you in his office, not just the expression?”

He hadn’t considered that Hermione would have taken his statement as a figure of speech. Severus had not gone into the Prophet's headquarters calmly or quietly; he was seething with vindictive fury when he’d thrown the door to the man’s office open and had not let up the pressure of his accusations and promises of what he would do to him until the man had collapsed. “About the time that I promised Barnabas I was going to run him through his own paper press until he came out with a story of my liking tattooed into his skin, he grabbed his chest and collapsed to his knees.” 

Her jaw dropped, her hand moving to cover her open mouth as she gazed worriedly at him. “Severus!”

“The healers that arrived said he was fine,” he consoled her, pushing some of her soft curly hair back. “Pity.”

“I should not be surprised that you nearly scared a man to death, literally,” she huffed, rubbing her hand up her face and closing her eyes. “Thank you for not getting arrested.”

“You are welcome,” he quipped back. Something bumped against his leg, and he turned his gaze toward the floor, seeing that Crookshanks had decided to rub against his trouser legs, weaving back and forth against his calves as he flicked his tail. 

“Hello Beasty,” he greeted. He was much more fond of the house beast now, but still had little appreciation for his hairs, many of which were now clinging to his trouser legs. “Please do not coat me in your fine orange hairs; I still have a delivery to make.”

“I thought you were doing your delivery while you went out?” Hermione asked him, bending down to seize the great orange half-kneazle into her arms. “Did I mishear you?”

Severus shook his head as he moved to shake some of the fur from his black clothing. “I was uncertain of what would happen, so I decided to make it after I had sorted them all out. The brew would not do well being jostled.”

“I made dinner tonight,” Hermione told him with a smile, gesturing to the kitchen. “I needed something to do with my hands; it is ready. Do you think it will be long before you are back?”

“It should not take me very long at all,” Severus confirmed, walking toward his lab. “I think I shall also pick up some dessert at the bakery next to my client’s home, since you’ve made dinner.”

“I’d like that,” she hummed, walking back into the kitchen.

Gathering what he needed from the lab, Severus determined he was going to make this the fastest delivery he’d ever made.

To keep the roast from cooling before he got back, Hermione cast a stasis spell over it all. She’d been anxious when she’d come home and he wasn’t there and took that anxiety and made a full Sunday roast with roasted potatoes and parsnips and Yorkshire pudding. It was far too much food for the both of them, but she knew that the leftovers would be an excellent lunch for the week. There was something satisfying in making a labor-intensive meal for Severus, in being able to pour the feeling she had for him into it. 

Still hesitant to name it, to give it the full power of what it actually was, Hermione had settled into the knowledge that she had incredibly intense feelings for Severus. Emotions that made her heart beat harder in his presence and the butterflies in her stomach more like eagles for how they flapped and flopped with his touch and kisses. She didn’t know exactly when it happened; there was no distinct moment where she knew that she’d crossed that threshold into what she felt now. It had been gradual, slow, and consistent, much like their increased physical intimacy. 

Plink!

Her thoughts were rattled by the mailslot, and she walked to the door, picking up the letter. It was from Neville, but there was something about the way the address was written that felt wrong to her. Opening it, she pulled out a torn-off piece of parchment.

Hermione!

I need your help! 

I got cursed, I don’t know exactly what I touched, but I need your help. Just you please, I don’t need your husband seeing me like this and making things worse. 

Hurry,

Neville

Below these shaky scribbled letters was an address and splatters of ink. Instantly, her mind went into gear. A curse could be any manner of things; if he was reaching out to her, he was in desperate danger. Not knowing what she was coming up against, she snatched her beaded bag, checking for healing ointments and blood replenishers as she walked to the front door. Staring at the address in hand, she ran out of the front door, barely remembering to activate the wards as she made for the apparition point. 

The address deposited her in front of an unfamiliar house; the front door wide open, Hermione stepped up, glancing into the house and calling out his name. This was not somewhere that someone lived regularly; the sitting room was dingy and unused. 

And also empty of Neville. 

“In here,” Neville called from beyond the door at the far end of the room. 

She took off at a sprint, wand in hand, sliding into the doorway to see Neville getting up from his seat at a rickety, a dozen pieces of torn parchment on the table in front of him. Immediately, she began scanning him over, searching for curse signs. “I came as soon as I got your letter. What’s wrong?”

“Thank Merlin,” Neville gasped out, wrapping her in a tight embrace, holding her to his chest. “I didn’t know if you would come. How do you feel?”

How did she feel? Why was he asking her that? 

Hermione shook her head, thinking that he was still referencing the whole upset from earlier in the day. “I’m fine, what is going on?”

Neville peered down at her, searching her face in a way that made her feel like he was examining her. “Are you sick?”

“No.” Hermione untangled from the hug, raising her eyebrows at him in suspicion. Something wasn’t right. Her stomach dropped, gut instincts telling her that she needed to exercise caution. Searching for the source of her unease, she took him in, wondering if it was this unidentified curse at play. 

But Hermione saw no signs that he was in any manner of distress.

In fact, Neville seemed fine; he seemed exactly as he had when she’d left Magihorticulture that afternoon. If he were cursed, she didn’t understand why he was asking her how she was instead of explaining his symptoms. It occurred to her that perhaps this wasn’t Neville, that it was perhaps someone parading as Neville, using polyjuice potion or some other illusionary spell. Her fingers curled around her wand, as she probed for more information. “What did you say to me when we came through the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore?”

“Incarcerous!”

The spell hit her from behind; before she could react, her body immediately constricted and coiled with thick ropes, her ankles jerked together by the rope, and her arms clenched to her sides. 

Neville stopped her fall, catching her before she fell with one arm while he pulled her wand from her fingers with the other. He tucked her wand into her pocket as he straightened her up, glaring behind her. “Be careful, Ron! She’s pregnant, for Merlin's sake.”

Understanding hit her immediately; there was nothing wrong with Neville, this was a trap. A trap set for her by someone she considered a friend but who was working with Ron. Anger coursed through her in the wake of this realization, and she glared at Neville, shrieking at him as he held her from falling. “Neville Longbottom, you get me out of this spell right now.”

“I can’t do that, love,” Neville said contritely, bending and picking her up so that he was carrying her. “This is for your own good and your baby’s.”

Hermione twisted and shifted as much as she could inside of the confines, trying to get her wand from her pocket. She saw Ron in the doorway, his dark-circled eyes triumphant as he wordlessly moved out of Neville's way. They walked back into the dingy sitting room, where he placed her on the sofa there. Ron shut the door and locked it, igniting a fire in the hearth. 

She glared at him, at them both, so angry that she could feel her pulse in her neck.

Neville knelt down beside her, speaking softly, “It's okay, we are going to get you to safety.”

“To safety?” she bellowed in disbelief. “What do you mean? Why is Ron here?” Hermione gave him another dirty look. “I told you I don’t want to see you; I don’t know who you are anymore!”

Ron made a face that was somewhere between anger and disbelief, coming to stand by Neville as he gestured to her as if she’d not said anything at all, still with his wand trained on her holding the spell. “See what I said, mate; it’s got to be a spell or something. He made her forget me, right in front of me, in the middle of Diagon.”

“I did not forget you,” Hermione yelled angrily, twisting her wrist to try to dislodge the ropes holding her tight. “I am trying to forget you because of how cruel and foolish you are, and Severus had nothing to do with that. It is all because of you!” She jerked her shoulders, trying to get some control over her bound form. “Now let me out this instant!”

“Hermione, please trust us,” Neville breathed out in a heavy sigh, repeating himself. “This is for your own good and for your baby.”

“For my own good? You tricked me! You wrote me a letter making me think you were in trouble to get me here, and you want me to trust you?” The sting of the betrayal and the heat of her anger made her eyes water as furious tears started in the corner of them. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Because Snape is doing something to you, and we need to figure out how to break the curse he has on you,” Neville said gravelly, with a deep frown. “You can hate me all you want after this, but I am going to save you from him.”

“He doesn’t have a curse on me! He’s not cast a single spell on me!” she growled through her teeth, the pain of rope burn on her wrist from where she was twisting it back and forth starting to sting.

“A potion maybe?” Ron offered, ignoring her furious yelling. “Something to make her act more cozy with him and to hate us. Do you know of anything that would do that?”

Neville shook his head with a worried frown, casting a curse detection spell over her, and the spell returned back with nothing. He glanced from her to Ron. “Could be something of his own design. Who knows how long he’s had to work on something like this.”

“I don’t hate any of you,” she said in exasperation. “At least I didn’t! It is starting to drift in that direction.” Hermione jerked her head in Ron’s direction as best as she could, inhaling as deeply as she could with the ropes before speaking. “I don’t actually hate you, Ron; I am disgusted at how you’ve treated Millie while she is pregnant with your baby.”

Disgust crept over his face, red freckled nose scrunching up as he shook his head. “See, Hermione never liked Millicent before; why does she care now? It’s like he’s made her change how she sees everything.”

“Can’t you just accept that I have grown to like Millie, that I—” Hermione paused in her outburst, finding the best words to not give her own emotions away. These were the last two people who got to know she had feelings for Severus. “I like Severus, and that is why I am different around him. He hasn’t done anything to change how I feel about the rest of you.”

Neville made a face of disbelief, sharing that same look with Ron. “We actually have a way of finding out if you know what he did to you, if you know about it and are trying to protect him,” he said, digging into his pocket and fishing out a vial of clear liquid.

“What is that?” Ron asked, eying the vial suspiciously.

“Veritaserum,” Neville explained, holding it up to show Ron the label. “I got some from a friend in the Alchemy Programme in exchange for some of the plants I’m growing in Magihorticulture. He wanted my Mandragoria for it, which I am sad to lose, but if it is going to save Hermione, it is worth it.”

Hermione shook her head, trying to thrash away from Neville and Ron, even though there was a sofa behind her and she had no control of her limbs. If she could put her fingers around her wand, even if she couldn’t fully move it, it might be enough for her to channel a disenchantment through it and break the binds.

The fireplace flashed green in that moment, and the next, a loud bellow of a familiar voice echoed in the room. “What are you doing to my skŭp!?” 

The two other men got up, turning to face the fireplace.

“Why is she tied up?” Viktor bore down on Neville, yelling and gesturing to her with his hands and the wand that Weasley had trained on her. “Neville, you said she was in danger from Severus, not Weasley.”

Her heart broke into a million pieces: they had involved Viktor. 

The betrayal was like a knife in her guts, slicing her clean through as she choked out a cry.

“Whoa, hold up Viktor.” Neville held his hands up to block Viktor from going after Ron, speaking calmly. “We have her restrained so she doesn’t run back to him. We need to break the curse on her first. Then,we need you to take her to Bulgaria so that Snape can’t put it back on her or hurt her baby.”

“Yeah,” Ron replied, dripping with sarcasm and dislike. “Don’t you want to make sure she is safe so you can go take care of her? It is the only way to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or us.”

Viktor glanced down at her, his dark eyes consumed with worry and concern, and most painfully of all, pity. 

“Hermione, why did you not tell me that he had cursed you? I would have come at once.” His voice was lower as he came to kneel at her side, his hands carefully touching her hair. “Longbottom told me that the letters I received were untrue, that he made you write to keep me away. Were they truly not your words, my skŭp?”

“I was the one who wrote them, not him,” Hermione pleaded, feeling strangled by ropes and her tears. “He didn’t hurt me. There is no curse. Viktor, believe me, please take me home.”

Ron cleared his throat aggressively. “She will say whatever she has to get back to him while under the curse. It is for her own good; we can’t let her go.”

“I have Veritaserum to see if we can find out more; it will let her tell the truth if a curse is keeping her from doing so,” Neville explained, holding the vial out.

Viktor glanced at it suspiciously. “Will this hurt her or her baby?”

“No, I verified,” Neville assured him. “It’s safe for her to take Veritaserum and won’t hurt either of them. It is our only option right now.”

Viktor glanced at the ceiling of the dingy sitting room, as if he were taking everything in. He took in a deep breath before exhaling it, uttering in Bulgarian something that sounded like it was somewhere between a prayer and curse. Dark eyes met hers, and he frowned, rubbing his fingers against her brow. “I am sorry, my skŭp, but if you are cursed, you would want me to break it before releasing you. Just as I would want you to do the same for me.”

The ache in her chest felt as if she were bleeding out, her breathing catching backward in her throat. “Viktor, please.”

“I am here; you are safe.” He moved to sit on the couch, pulling her into his lap, supporting her head. “Skapi will keep you and the little one safe. If you are telling the truth, and there is no curse, then I will take you where you want to go, but we must know. You would not forgive me if I left you in danger, and I could not live with myself if I did.” He turned to Ron, narrowing his eyes. “These ropes are too much, you will reduce them so that she can sit up. I am here now, I can keep her with me if this curse makes her try to run.”

Ron and Neville exchanged a look of doubt and worry with each other at his words.

“Now, Weasley.” Krum demanded. “Or I shall consider that you are the real threat to her here.”

Ron sighed, and flicked his wand, the ropes around her legs and torso disappearing, the constriction on her lungs gone. Viktor tucked his arm around her, pulling her to sit up next to him. “I will keep you safe, if it is from Severus, or from someone else,” Viktor glared at Ron. “I am here. Let us find if there is a curse, Hermione.”

 Neville shrugged as he and Ron shared another look, and opened the vial, staring down at her. “Hermione, you can either tell us what he’s done to you and stop protecting him, or we will have you tell us under this.”

“He hasn’t done anything to me!” Hermione declared loudly and angrily. “I am not cursed! Your spell even said so!”

Neville let out a deep sigh, bringing the vial toward her lips. “Veritaserum it is.”

Daily Prophet Exclusive!

Pregnant Granger Flees from Deranged Husband

Today, our office was invaded by Severus Tobias Granger in response to our article revealing his wife expecting his child. He behaved as a man possessed and lacking any clear signs of sanity or civility. Our editor Barbabas Cuffe is recovering in St Mungos after a suspected heart attack thanks to Mister Granger threatening to put him through the printing press and I, special reporter Rita Skeeter-Lovegood, only evaded personal injury due to securing myself and some of the other staff inside of my office.

After Severus Granger terrorized the Daily Prophet Headquarters, Hermione Granger was seen fleeing their home with only the clothes on her back, looking terrified. She did not even glance back as she made it to the apparition point and disappeared. What has been going on in the Granger household that the young pregnant Hermione Granger has to flee for her safety and that of her child?

Will the Ministry step in in this clear case of domestic concern?

Will the public stand to watch their heroine frightened in such a way?

Severus Granger is not locatable for comment at this time, but we suspect that something nefarious is afoot.

We at the Daily Prophet will be keeping a close eye on this developing situation.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

It had taken him a few minutes longer than he had planned to make the delivery, especially since his client was a talker. Even with Severus’ professional and therefore polite excuses to leave, they wanted to ask him the same questions they always asked about the dosage, the strength, and the timing of their commission. It had taken remarkable restraint to not just walk away, because he had Hermione and a homemade dinner waiting for him at home.

Something about that knowledge, that there was something more than abject loneliness at home for him now, and not just anything or anyone, but Hermione, emboldened the ever-expanding pool of love for her. It had taken residence in the hole he thought his heart had withered and rotted away from, and with each passing day, it expanded, at times spilling over into his mood even in moments when she wasn’t there. 

Severus had had his fill of inquiry and rather curtly cut off his client before dashing to the bakery and then, armed with treats he thought would bring her the same kind of joy she brought him, he took the floo home.

The green flames had barely receded when he started speaking, calling out to her, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought two different desserts; I could not decide which you might want, between the sticky toffee pudding and the Bakewell tart."

His answer was an uneasy and vacant silence. Instincts from years of survival immediately told him that something was not as he had left it in the house. Stepping into the kitchen, he saw no signs that told him there were any issues. Dinner was under stasis, and the table was set. Severus placed the desserts he’d purchased on the counter and turned out of the kitchen.

“Hermione?” he called her name.

He got no response except the echo of his own voice. His heart suddenly squeezed as he thought that she’d had an issue upstairs and he’d been away when she needed him. Taking the stairs three at a time, he knew at once she was not in the bathroom; the door was wide open and clear. 

Severus did his best to school the frantic worry out of his voice as he called for her again, turning into her bedroom. “Hermione?” 

It was just as it had been left this morning, with no signs of her. He checked around her bed to see if she’d fallen on the other side of it, to no avail. In his own room, it was the same: no signs of his wife.

Standing on the landing, he rubbed his face, wondering if he’d missed her saying she also had to leave quickly. Perhaps there had been something she needed to attend to and she’d thought she’d be back before him. But that didn’t sit right with him; she was always rather clear where she would be, despite him making no demands of her to do so. 

He made his way downstairs, looking for signs that he had missed in his haste upstairs, a fear starting to dig its claws into his ribcage. Her shoes were gone from the front closet, and that made him check her desk to see that her bag was also gone.

It was at that moment the letterbox clicked with a deposit. Perhaps it was a note from her about her whereabouts, maybe something urgent had drawn her away. He ran through everything he knew that would be potentially urgent to her as he made his way to the door. Ginny was due soon; perhaps the child was coming, and she had been asked by the Potters to attend. That would be something she would rush away for.

Withdrawing the Daily Prophet Special Report from the mail slot, Severus felt his heart sink into his stomach; that fear suddenly sharp and painful as he watched the moving image of her running down the street before he even finished the headlines.

“Fuck,” he cursed, immediately trying to think of what he’d done to cause her to run. Had he asked for too much? Had his behavior at the Prophet made her suddenly afraid of him? Was his inconsiderate behavior toward the man’s heart episode something that made her see it as untenable to continue this? Immediately, Severus sank against the wall, feeling the sharp jagged pain of rejection and abandonment crack the basin that was so full of love for Hermione that he could hardly breathe. 

“Mrowwwww!”

Crookshanks rushed out from under his desk, yelling loudly and rubbing against his leg insistantly. 

Severus looked down at the small house beast and sucked in a deep breath. There was no way that she would have left Crookshanks behind if she were running from him. Of all the things she would never leave behind in a place she felt unsafe, it would be her beloved familiar.

It was as if a balloon in him burst, the air of relief escaping him as he leaned forward, petting the cat from forehead to tail. If Hermione had not run from him, she was running toward something, and he could not shake the immediate instinct that it was a trap and that whoever had laid it had set up the paper to catch that image.

“I am going to have to murder someone today, aren’t I, Beasty? Do you know where your mother went?” Severus asked, wracking his brain on where he should check first. His immediate thought was the Burrow; that Weasley had managed to convince her that she was needed, and she’d been able to put aside her anger to help. Standing from where he’d knelt to pet the house beast, Severus marched toward the floo with the intention of heading there first. 

Just before he reached the fireplace, it flared to life, and Millie came charging into the sitting room, yelling, “She didn’t run!”

Taking a step to the side to give her space to enter, Severus affirmed that he already knew this. “I am aware of that; I just do not know where to start looking.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Millie took in a deep breath, as if she’d been running before she came into his house, shouting and nodding her head.

While he was absolutely certain that she had the ability to track down Hermione’s whereabouts with the same manner of accuracy that he did, there was no way he was going to have her add strain to herself to do so. Most especially with her breathing heavily as if getting here had already been a strain. “I cannot expect you to work in your condition.”

“I’ve already done the work,” she laughed at him as if he’d said the most ridiculous thing. “I’m here with the results.”

“Do you know where she is?” Severus felt the sharpness of his tone as he demanded rather than asked.

“I think so." Millie offered him a stack of letters from where she had been holding them against her side. “My idiot ‘husband’ thought that he could use our house as the base of his little scheme, assuming that I would not notice he was using his room. I found these about 30 minutes ago, before the paper came out when I noticed he’d been there.”

Severus took the letters from her, opening the first one and knowing the handwriting almost immediately. “Letters from Longbottom to Weasley.”

“Seems Ron has Longbottom convinced that she needs saving from you.” Millie nodded, gesturing to the letters in question. “When the news about the pregnancy hit, Longbottom decided they needed an immediate long-distance exit plan for her and contacted her friend Viktor Krum. They agreed to meet at Longbottom’s parents' house; that is where they are supposed to be meeting with Krum. If I had to put my money on where she went, it’s there.” 

That gave Severus more information than he had a moment ago. He had never actually been to the Longbottoms’ home. He would have to find out where it was and hope it wasn’t secret-kept from him, but Millie had cut out a lot of the darting around he was about to do.

“I asked Greg to get information on the address of the Longbottoms' house. It took him a few minutes, but he got it for me,” Millie continued, pulling a piece of parchment from her pocket and handing it over to him. “Here it is.”

His jaw dropped slightly in surprise as he took the paper, the address clear to him. This was more than he could have expected from her, and he glanced up at her, drawing in a breath to contain the gratitude at an appropriate level. “I owe you a debt greater than I can ever repay; thank you, Millie."

Inclining her head to him, she smirked viciously. “Kick him so hard in the dick it comes out of his nose, and we will be even.”

“If Mister Weasley has my wife, you can be assured a kick will be the least of his worries, especially if he has harmed her in any way," Severus growled out a promise, clenching the address in his hand as he made to move toward the floo, dismissing her. “If I need further assistance, I will come to your address.”

“Actually,” Millie cut him off, holding her hand up to halt him. “Greg said he’d meet you over there if you need him. He, sort of, made me promise to not get into any fights, and I gave him my word in exchange for that address,” Millie confessed, her lips drawn into an indignant pout. “Reach out to him if you need assistance.”

He nodded, appreciating the offer but thinking it unnecessary. It was Weasely, Longbottom, and possibly Krum; not odds he felt he needed backup for. “I should be fine on my own."

"Just know he’s ready if that changes,” Millie told him, stepping through the floo ahead of him and heading to her own home. Severus pinched the floo powder and headed to the closest floo point he could get to the address he’d been given.

He was going to bring Hermione home, and those behind this trap would regret it.

There was no point in fighting the Veritaserum; it crept through her mind, soothing every bit of tension and bypassing every inhibition she’d ever built up to defend herself and others over the years. Her internal ‘NO’ meant nothing; it was going to take what it wanted, and she could do nothing to stop it. And for once, Hermione did something she’d not done in a long time, maybe had never done before, but she didn’t fight it. She was tired of fighting. She’d been fighting her whole life, in one way or another, and as the chemical assault pervaded her senses, stripping her bare before those she once trusted, she found she didn’t have it in her this time. 

She hated how it felt, how intensely she could feel the layers of self-control stripped away and bound. It exposed her in ways that she knew she would never forget, and she also knew that Neville had given her too strong of a dosage. It should not be this intense; it was supposed to be subtle, which is why you could trick someone into drinking it and revealing their secrets.

“What has Severus done to you?” Neville asked her, kneeling in front of the sofa she sat on.

The potion compelled her to speak, but the answer was the same as it had been before it invaded her and stripped away her autonomy and consent. “Severus has done nothing to me.”

Ron scoffed, his wand still pointed at her, the binds on her wrists and her ankles tight and restrictive. “He has to have done something to make you change like this.”

Neville shot him a look before gazing at her again. “Has there been anything he did that would be suspicious to you?”

Again, her choice to speak robbed from her; she shook her head. “No. He’s not done anything suspicious.”

Viktor got her attention, his fingers gently turning her chin toward him. His dark eyes were filled with something the other two were not: compassion and hope. Viktor looked at her like a man who was praying that some curse was not affecting his loved one. Hermione could see that Viktor hoped that they were wrong, hoped that her letters had been from her, and hoped there was no curse on her. Of the three of them in this room with her, he was the only one who looked like he actually cared about her.

“Has he hurt you or threatened to hurt you?" Viktor questioned quietly, searching her expression.

“Severus has never hurt me during this whole marriage.” Hermione wanted him to believe her; she needed him to believe her. Holding his gaze, she let the potion wrench from her the truth, suppressing the sick helplessness doing so caused. “He has done everything he can to protect me; he is fighting the law with me as best as we both can. Severus has promised to go to every appointment they’re making me go through. He is not leaving me alone with them to make sure they don’t do more than is required.” Images of Healer Carman and the potion came to her mind. “Severus protected me and kept them from forcing me to take a lust potion.” Her voice was breaking, pleading as she put everything into convincing Viktor that Severus was the man she’d said he was and more. “Severus has done nothing but make the very best of this horrible situation we’ve found ourselves in. The only potion he’d given me was a prenatal, which was confirmed as a prenatal at St. Mungo's. He hasn’t cast a single spell on me since I have been in his home. He has protected me and cared for me, just like I told you in my letters, Viktor.” Hermione felt a hot tear hit her cheek as she begged him to believe her, to be the best friend she knew he was, and to get her out of this. “Please, take me home.”

Neville sighed in frustration, and Hermione glanced at him. Her friend turned captor twisted his lips into a frown, glancing at the empty vial and then back to her as if he didn’t believe her, even with the chemical in her body preventing her from lying to him. “It has to be something that can defeat Veritaserum. Hermione, are you fighting the potion?”

“No, I am not." She knew at that moment, no matter what truth she told Neville, he would not accept it unless it was the truth he wanted to hear, even if that truth were a lie. His mind was just as set as Ron’s against Severus, and she wished she’d noticed that before  She would have distanced herself, and not trusted him enough to come here.

“The curse detection came up clean twice. Do you know of any spells we can try?” Neville asked, turning to Ron, who looked just as frustrated as Neville.

“No more spells, no more potions!” Viktor decreed from his seat next to her, his hand unwinding from around her. 

Hermione jerked her head in his direction, staring at him as hope sprang into her chest. His lips were a thin line as he stared at the other two men, rising from his seated position next to her. “Hermione is telling the truth, and I will be taking my skŭp home to her Severus.”

Her heart squeezed in her chest, a relieved gasp escaping her as she heard his words. 

Neville scrambled to his feet, sputtering and holding his hands up in placation. “You can’t!”

“Who is going to stop me, you, Longbottom?” Viktor drawled, his wand in hand as he put himself between Hermione and the other two. She didn’t need to see his face to know the carefully controlled anger on Viktor’s face. “Or do you think you can go against me again, Weasley? Do you remember what happened last time?”

“I told you we couldn’t trust him,” Ron spat, gripping his own wand that he still had holding the spell on Hermione.

“Viktor, no one here wants to fight you,” Neville placated, his voice low and submissive. “We all just want what is best for Hermione and to make sure Snape can’t hurt her.”

“If no one wants to fight me, then you will let me take her where she wishes to go." Viktor pointed his wand at Ron, growling threateningly. “Release the spell now, before I break your arm to do it.”

Ron’s lip curled into anger and disgust as he shook his head at Viktor. “I won’t let him have her!” 

Hermione felt the binds tighten and twist around her wrists and ankles painfully, possessively. They began to expand again, winding around her limbs in brutal tightness. 

“You stink of the same jealousy you came after me with!” Viktor bellowed furiously. “This is not for her safety; this is because you want what is not yours!”

“She was mine first; she will always be mine first!” Ron yelled back, his other hand balled into a fist as he crowded into the taller man’s space. “Just like she was never yours, she will never be his.”

The sickening thud of fist hitting flesh echoed in the room; Viktor’s head turned slightly with the impact. 

“Guys, surely this doesn’t have to come to blows.” Neville tried to get in between the two of them, his hands pushing them apart.

They had completely stopped paying attention to her, and she would have tried to run for the floo or the door if the ropes around her had not continued to ensnare her, tightening around her chest and feeling as if she were going to suffocate every time she exhaled. 

Viktor shoved Neville away as if he were nothing more than a feather, grabbing Ron by the collar, snarling. “Release her.”

“Make me Krum,” Ron spat at him.

Another solid thud of fist against flesh, and this time, Ron bowed forward into Viktor’s shoulder, the blow having caught him in the center of his chest.

Hermione felt the spell release, the constrictive confines disappearing. She sucked in a gasp of air as if she’d been underwater, and then threw herself forward to her feet. 

C r a s h!

A lamp shattered against Viktor’s arm, sending glass and splintered wood across the floor. The glass glittered in the reflection of the firelight that created a corona around the two now brawling men.

Ron and Viktor were now battling in front of the fireplace, which meant the floo was effectively cut off as an escape route. Hermione thought to apparate, but there were wards against it, holding her in place as she tried to transport herself anywhere but here. That left the front door, which Neville was standing in front of, watching the other two fighting with shocked horror.

Hermione dashed toward the door, her wand in hand.

Neville caught her by her arms, holding her biceps as he stared at her. “I don’t understand Hermione. Why do you want to go back to Severus when you are still trying to fight the law? This is your chance to get away!”

“It’s not about the law!” The potion in her veins strangled the words out of her.

“Not about the law?” he repeated in confusion. “What is it about? Why do you want to be with him?”

A myriad of reasons came to her mind, and she felt the compulsion sink into her chest, wrapping its hands around her most prized of emotions, her secret that she’d not even confessed to herself. There was no fighting it; the potion sank into her, driving her words from her as it assaulted her senses. “I love him! I am in love with him, and he doesn’t even know it! I want to go home to MY HUSBAND!”

“On that note, I believe it is time you relinquish my wife to me!” Severus’ voice cut through the din of the fighting behind them.

Hermione lifted her eyes to see him in the doorway, his eyes wide with anger and something else, his wand in hand. As elated as she’d been that Viktor was going to take her home, she was doubly so to see him in the doorway, knowing he’d come for her. “Severus!”

Hermione basically leapt at Severus, throwing her arms around his waist, immediately feeling the sense of safety that she’d come to associate with him. It lessened the mortification and anger and horror in knowing that he’d heard her, but that she’d not been speaking to him when she’d made her confession. She pressed her face against his shoulder, seeking security before she turned to face Neville, still holding on to Severus. One of his arms curled around her back, his fingers spreading against the small of her back and holding her to him.

“How did you—” Neville paled in shock, not able to keep his hold on Hermione. “—are you tracking her?”

“A word of advice,” Severus snarled. “If you are going to plan a kidnapping, make sure everyone in your scheme burns their correspondence. Weasley was a very poor accomplice.” Severus released his hold on her but made no attempt at extracting himself from her.

“Fucking hell,” Neville exclaimed, glaring back at the two fighting men. 

Hermione followed Neville’s gaze, seeing that it was no longer a fight. Viktor had restrained Ron in some kind of submission move, in which his arms were pinned behind his back and Viktor had tangled his legs together in a figure-four position. 

“What do you plan to do now, little shit?” Viktor sniped at Ron, holding him in place. He glanced up at them, seeing Severus, and his expression paled, but he did not release the hold on Ron. 

“Longbottom,” Severus stressed the syllables of his name in a deadly drawl. “It is only because Hermione cares about you that I am giving you this one courtesy.”

Hermione glanced up at Severus, seeing how tight he was holding his jaw. He pulled her with him as he sidestepped the doorway, gesturing to it with his wand. “Run, before I change my mind and do to you what I am about to do to Mister Weasley.”

Neville’s light brown eyes went wide, and he sucked in a gasp of air that was full of fear. He glanced at Hermione, then back at Viktor and Ron before meeting the burning fury that was Severus’ expression. 

“Go,” Hermione said, stepping away from Severus with her own wand drawn. The betrayal and anger were not exempt from the Veritaserum's invasive touch as she pointed her wand at him. “Before I tell him that you would deserve it for this. Before I help him.”

Pain crossed Neville’s face, but it didn’t mean the same thing to her. She doubted he truly understood what he’d just done, what he’d just taken away from her, from both her and Severus. She didn’t think she would tell him, either, as the honesty enforced on her made her realize. There was no coming back from this; there was no apology he could give her that would make this right.

Having made his decision in the wake of her words, Neville bolted for the door. 

Severus watched him rush away, pulling the door shut behind him, before he turned on the two men on the floor. The fury and rage were coming off of him in waves; she could feel it even if she was no longer pressed against his side. He stopped just in front of where Viktor had Ron subdued, and knelt.

“As for you, Mister Weasley,” Severus hissed out angrily. She watched as he pointed his wand at the redhead, staring into his eyes as he pressed it against his forehead. “I am to deliver a gift from your wife.”

The movement was almost too quick to be seen, and Hermione did not catch the incantation, but a spiral of light struck Ron and ran down his torso. Viktor hastily released Ron, shuffling back away from the spell that was on Ron’s body as if he did not want anything to do with it. 

Ron screamed as if he were being gutted, his hands immediately going to his groin as he began cursing and convulsing. “OH GODS! MY DICK! FUCK SHIT! FUCK GODS!”

“Even the gods will not be able to help you, Mister Weasley,” Severus asserted, grabbing the back of Ron’s shirt and dragging him toward the fireplace. He paused to throw some floo powder on the fire before throwing Ron into it and saying firmly, “St. Mungos!”

Hermione watched as the green fire coiled around the screaming Ron and whisked him away. A relief sank into her shoulders when she realized that now all that was left was her, Severus, and Viktor.

“Master Severus, please forgive me.” Viktor held his hands in the air, his voice no longer as angry as it had been; instead, it was rife with apology. “They said that she had been cursed, that you had harmed her. I could not bear to do nothing,” he explained. “I promised her that if we didn’t find a curse, I would take her home, and we did not find one. I was fighting Weasley to get him to release her.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Hermione confirmed his story, urging Viktor to his feet. “He was brought here under false pretenses.”

“I am aware,” Severus agreed, putting his wand back into his robe. 

“Do you hate me, my skŭp? Can you forgive me?” Viktor said quietly and contritely as he came to stand next to them.

The potion did not have to force her to console him. Hermione understood why he had come, why he was there. She wished he would have believed her before they had drugged her with Veritaserum. But when the shadow of doubt was removed and there was proof of no curse, he believed her and been ready to take her home. She was upset with him, but she did not feel the same betrayal and hurt that she felt toward Neville or the disgust and revilement that she harbored for Ron.

“I could never hate you; you are my Skapi,” she breathed out, touching his arm. “I am upset that you didn’t believe me, but I know why you felt you couldn’t. You are right; if I were cursed, I would have wanted you to try to save me from it first.” Hermione wrapped him in a hug, squeezing him in gratitude for being the one to stand up for her when it was clear there was nothing wrong. “And when you knew I was telling the truth, you started fighting to get me out of here. I understand that you did this out of love for me, not any other reason.”

“It is only out of love for you,” Viktor agreed, hugging her back firmly. “I would have never come if they had not said that they were certain you were cursed. Now that I know you are not, I will leave you with Severus, because that is where you wish to be.”

“I do wish to be with him,” she replied, breaking the hug and stepping back.

“I should get back to Master Fluffers,” Viktor explained then, glancing between the two of them. “I left him with my mother. She will be very sad that she does not get to see you, but she will understand that you will want to be with your husband while you are pregnant.”

The pregnancy! 

She was suddenly grateful that Ron and Neville had not asked her about that or pressed for information on their plans, or she would have been forced to reveal everything. Hermione had thought to warn Millie of the fake pregnancy, to spare her feelings and the pain it could cause her, but it now occurred to her that what they were going to do would potentially hurt Viktor just as deeply. 

Hermione grabbed his arm. “I need you to keep a secret for me, for me and Severus. Can you do that?”

Viktor nodded, his eyes wide with concern as he glanced between the two of them. “Anything for you, any secret.”

“There is no baby,” she confessed, squeezing his arm. “I am not pregnant.”

"But the paper?” Viktor was very confused now, tilting his head to the side with raised eyebrows.

“The boy from school, Thomas Walker, lied to the paper. Severus and I are letting them believe it is the truth. He is using the story they made up to protect me from future articles like this.” Hermione shook her head as she explained what was going on. 

“So, no baby, it is a ruse," he repeated as understanding sunk in.

“You are going to read something about me losing this baby, and I want you to know it is not real, so you don’t come rushing back here,” she told him, letting go of his arm.

His face dropped at her statement, a whisper of heartbreak in his eyes. “Is this saying you don’t want me to come back to see you again? Have I hurt your heart so greatly?”

“No, but I don’t need you barging into my house with condolences either,” Hermione told him, wishing that the potion would finish its way through her system. She hated the pull of it against her mind, how she felt as if she were not truly in control of herself.

“Actually,” Severus cut in, his expression thoughtful as he joined the conversation he’d just been observing. “It is well known that you and Mister Krum are extremely close. If you wanted him to come for an actual visit during that time, it may help us,” he paused, holding her gaze, "but only if you want him there.”

She didn’t know if she wanted him there honestly, with how upset she was at the moment. “I need to think about that.”

“I will be there if you need me. I will always be there if you need me,” Viktor told her, letting out a deep sigh. “You will need time, I know. May I still send you letters?”

“If you don't, I will be very cross with you,” Hermione declared immediately, crossing her arms at him. He’d done the least of the egregious actions that happened here tonight, and his letters brought her so much joy that she could not imagine her life without him or them. “How else will I know if the sea has swallowed you or not? And how will I get my Master Fluffers' photos?”

Viktor let out a bark of laughter before agreeing with her. “I cannot deprive you of his majesty.” He turned to Severus, bowing his head lowly. "Goodnight, Master Severus. I am sorry.”

“You have no need to apologize.” Severus shook his head, regarding Viktor with respect. “I have said since the beginning of this madness that it would show us who our real friends are. I know that you are Hermione’s true friend.” Severus paused and gave Viktor a knowing look, inclining his head to him in warning. “That being said, I do not wish us to meet under these circumstances again.”

"Yes, sir,” Viktor acknowledged. "The next meeting will be for fun, and I shall bring Master Fluffers and treats.”

With that, Viktor threw the floo powder into the fire, stepping into the fire and leaving them in the empty, unfamiliar house. She didn’t want to be here another moment. 

Severus's hands rested softly on her shoulders, his eyes peering into hers as he gave her his whole undivided focus. “Are you hurt?”

Hermione wanted to tell him that she was alright; she wanted to push away the last hour and forget it had ever happened. But the potion was still in her veins, gripping her and grabbing her self-control mercilessly and preventing the falsehood. 

“I am physically okay," Hermione clamped her jaw shut to keep more from escaping, concealing the internal pain she was going through, the feelings of violation and invasion, and the disappointment and betrayal. He hadn’t asked about her emotions, he’d asked if she was hurt and he meant physically, so she wasn’t lying if she didn’t tell him about how she felt. She wanted to hold it all in and keep it from him, if only until they were home, where she would feel safe enough to do so. She just wanted to go home.

“But?” Severus urged her to continue, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying..

“I just want to go home,” she confessed.

Severus nodded his head, his hand sliding down her arm to take her hand. “Then let me take you home.”

Together, they stepped into the floo and out into the sitting room. 

Immediately, Severus wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly to his chest as his face pressed against her head, not stepping any farther into the house. 

Immediately, the dam in her broke, her tears pouring from her eyes as she sank into his embrace, holding on to him as if she were afraid of being ripped away from him, afraid of opening her eyes and finding she was still on that sofa being interrogated by those she once called friends.

“Can you answer me now? Are you alright?” Severus asked into her hair, holding her as if he were afraid too that she would be whisked away.

Entangled still by the potion, although the pull of it was getting detectably weaker, Hermione blubbered into his shoulder. “My whole body hurts, one of my friends just betrayed me with my ex, and they put my best friend in a position that feels like betrayal, and they ruined our dinner plans on an already hard day." Hermione took a deep breath, opening her eyes. The headline of the paper lying on the sofa caught her eye, and she read it. A defeated, mirthless laugh left her. Could this day get any worse? “Oh, and the wizarding world now also thinks you are abusing me.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Severus stated firmly, releasing his hold on her to examine her. “Where do you hurt?”

Hermione held up her wrists, seeing for the first time the red, angry welts from the rope burn. “My wrists, my ankles. My chest, he had the ropes so tight, I thought I was suffocating.”

Severus’ eyes fell on the welts, and she watched as a fury rose and then faded into worry and compassion. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm as he met her eyes. “Let's tend to these first, then we will eat dinner if you feel up to it.”

Nodding, she closed her hand around his, holding hers, squeezing it tightly.

She sank into the sofa as he left her to head down to the lab. Rubbing her temples, still feeling the lingering effects of the Veritaserum, Hermione was faced with the knowledge that Severus had heard her. He’d heard her confess something she’d not even been ready to confess to herself, to Neville. Hermione didn’t know which hurt more: that she’d been forced to reveal what she’d been trying to keep secret, or that it hadn’t been Severus she said it to first. He was the one who deserved to hear that kind of proclamation when it was the right time, when she could know it was what she really felt. 

Hermione felt robbed, as if she’d had something precious stolen from her that she could never get back. She could never get back that moment of revelation, and her confession of love would always be tainted with what just happened. Anger bubbled up in her chest, and she clenched her fists before gasping out in pain for how it pulled at the tender skin at her wrists.

A moment later, Severus returned, kneeling in front of her with ointments and a damp cloth in his hand. Wordlessly, he began to treat her wrists, softly smoothing the soothing balm over the welts on her wrists.

Part of her felt so guilty for it not having been him to hear it first. Mingled in with the anger and the violation of herself, there was this deep-seated shame in the fact that someone else got to hear that she loved him before Severus did. 

“I am so sorry,” she breathed out, feeling compelled to tell him how much she wished she could go back and change it all.

Severus’ expression shifted to confusion as he peered from her wounds to her face. “Why are you sorry?”

“I am sorry that I didn’t get to say it to you first,” she began, shaking her head as the words were drawn out of her like a thread from a spool. “That you got to hear how I felt as I shouted it at him. That they stole that moment from me, just like everything else has been or is trying to be stolen from me in this godforsaken country!”

“Hermione, you don’t have to apologize,” Severus consoled, smiling softly up at her. “I am not angry.”

He should be angry, just like she was angry. Her choice had been stripped away again, and this time it was more than a legal document; it was her emotions, her heart forced to reveal itself before she was ready. “Well, I am angry,” she sighed, her throat tight as the confessions kept coming. She had no idea how long she would be stuck telling her truth because of the overdose of the potion. It would have been different if she were able to tell the truth because she wanted to. “I am angry because I didn’t even have a choice! I had to tell him, I could not fight the Veritaserum.”

Severus’ smile dropped from his face, shock and concern taking its place immediately. “How long ago were you given it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, feeling more tears well up in her eyes. She just wanted to feel in control of herself again. “I didn’t see the clock, but he gave me an entire bottle of it; it has been too strong the whole time.”

Severus cursed, head tilting back toward the ceiling as he let out a deep sigh. He swallowed, gazing at her with worried eyes. “So you are still under its effects?”

“Yes.” She could still feel it coursing through her veins, riding through her mind and holding open every door to her deepest secrets against every ounce of her will.

“I will refrain from asking you anything else,” Severus exhaled through his nose, returning to his work of tending to her wrists. “In order to keep you from being compelled to answer me. We will discuss everything that happened once you are no longer experiencing its effects.”

There was something in that act that squeezed her heart, but in a way that was not painful but warm and made the love for him expand even more through her. Severus knew she didn’t have a choice in answering him at this moment, that she had no control and would reveal whatever he asked of her, and instead of taking advantage of it or asking her to elaborate on what he’d heard, he’d opted to protect her once again by observing silence.

Hermione slipped her hands from his hold, grabbing his face in her palms. Holding his gaze, she hoped he understood how much his action, or rather inaction, meant to her, how everything he’d done tonight had meant to her. She felt warm tears streaming down her cheeks, but these were not from anger or resentment or being so frustrated at being trapped in this state of confession. They were because of how full her heart felt at that moment. Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, trying to impress upon him what she was feeling without having to say it. The compulsion stirred in her, but with her lips against his, there was no room for words.

Severus kissed her back, his hands moving to cradle her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears. 

Hermione sucked in a shaky breath from the crying, breaking the kiss as she rested her forehead against his. “Thank you,” she whispered so quietly that she barely heard herself, hoping he heard her.

He nodded subtly, gazing at her as he continued to wipe away her tears with his thumbs. He didn’t say anything, but she knew he understood; she could see it in the depths of those black eyes as they sat there in silence, holding each other.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

A quick way to get Veritaserum to wear off was to eat something; it metabolized at a quicker rate, particularly with a fattier meal. It was why it was always a better choice to serve it at tea rather than dinner to extend efficacy and how long someone would be subject to the effects of the potion. To their great fortune, such a meal had already been prepared by Hermione, and once he explained this to her, she agreed to eat something.

Sitting across from her at the dinner table, Severus tightly controlled his every action, pushing down the tempest of emotions swirling within him in knowing that Hermione did in fact love him, but also that she’d been forced to reveal so before she was ready because she’d been overdosed with Veritaserum. There was a rage in him too, in understanding that he’d let Longbottom off too easily now that he had the barest idea of what had transpired, but he did not want her to think that anger was directed towards her at all. 

His every word was calculated, ensuring that it was always a statement. Nothing Severus said gave any indication that she was expected to answer him with anything more than a ‘thank you’ or some other simple acknowledgement. Severus did not want to give any cause for the serum in her blood to force her to say more. 

“The roast is delicious.” 

“Here is your drink.” 

“Thank you for dinner.” 

“I will take your dishes.” 

It took everything in him to not ask her what had happened, but he knew the feeling of that potion at high doses, and he could not bear to cause her more of that discomfort. Even with his Occlumency shields, an overdose of Veritaserum was a special kind of violation, one that he would wish on very few people.

After the nearly silent dinner, Hermione had taken herself upstairs for a shower. Severus sent word to Millie that Hermione had been recovered, and then sat on the sofa, carefully petting the orange beast that had climbed into his lap. Even Crookshanks seemed to sense that there was something wrong, his orange eyes looking toward the hidden door when she stepped out of it. Her brown eyes fell on the two of them, and a soft smile curved her lips, the first smile he’d seen since they’d been back from her kidnapping. Severus watched her carefully as she crossed the room, battling the desire to pull her into his arms and hold her, knowing that it might not be what she needed in that moment. 

Her fingers joined his in scratching the house beast's head as she sat down on the sofa next to him, and her gaze met his. 

“How do you feel?” he asked her automatically, searching her expression for signs of discomfort.

“I feel like I don’t have to tell you the truth when you ask me that.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “I think it is out of my system.”

“I am relieved to hear that,” he told her, reaching out to touch her cheek. A dam released in him, a wash of relief moving through him as if someone had poured cool water down his spine. “Would you like to talk about what happened?”

“No,” she shook her head, closing her eyes and placing her hand over his. “I’m not... really not ready yet.” 

He was not going to force her, even if he wanted to know what had been done to her. “I understand; I can leave you be if you need,” he offered, drawing his hand back toward himself.

“No. Stay.” Hermione latched on to his hand with both hands, pulling it to her chest as she shook her head. “Just stay here with me.”

“I will stay then,” he promised, curling his fingers around hers. 

There was not a force, in nature or otherwise, that would have been able to pull him away from her in that moment. He could see a quiet desperation in her eyes to not be alone, and it echoed the yearning he knew from his own past experiences. Severus adjusted back against the sofa, reaching for her to draw her closer. When she leant into his embrace, he pulled her against his side, his cheek resting against her head.

They sat there for a long moment in the quiet; the only sounds were of their soft breathing, the crackling of the fire, and the kneazle she was still petting, purring in his lap. Even his heartbeat felt quiet in his chest, a tentative, worried quake that he didn’t fully understand the reason behind. Severus knew there was a part of him that was worried that in having to confess her feelings, it had damaged their growing relationship. That his not knowing what had happened and having been happy at her saying the words aloud had made her consider he was taking some kind of advantage. 

Severus would not ask her about it, especially not so soon after what had occurred, but each of her exhales against him made him feel constricted and tense, like that would be the moment Hermione would announce that she’d changed the way she felt. 

“I meant it,” she whispered against his shoulder, her chin slightly digging into him as she spoke. 

The breath he didn’t know he was holding seeped out of him, like the slow, deliberate deflation of a balloon, and he felt tension leave him as he pressed a kiss to her head. 

“Even though I hadn’t meant to say it then,” Hermione continued, leaning back to look in his eyes. “I meant it when I said I love you and that I wanted to come home to you.”

“I know,” his voice cracked, and he swallowed to try to solve that. He’d had time to think while she was in the shower about what she’d said, both there and once they were home. He’d also had time to think about his response and how he wanted to address this new avenue they found themselves on. After a moment of silence, Severus gathered all those thoughts and decisions and asked for her permission to share them. “I would like to say something to you about your declaration, but I don’t want to upset you more than you already have been.”

The softness of her smile faded, her brown eyes suddenly more pupil than iris as she took in a sharp breath. Hermione pressed herself up and away from him, water welling in her eyes. “I know it’s too soon, and you must think I’m foolish for it. I don’t expect you to do anything about it, and I won’t say it again. You must think I am out of my mind.”

He knew immediately that he’d worded it wrong, that she'd take his statement as rejection. Baffled that she would think he would reject her, he shook his head. Severus shifted in his seat, dislodging the cat as he tried to stop her exodus. He grasped her hand, squeezing as he spoke. “Would you let me tell you what I think?”

“Yes, sorry,” she apologized, but she didn’t look at him; instead, she looked at their conjoined hands.

Clearing his throat, Severus ran his thumb over her knuckles, trying to provide comfort. “You told me, when we got home, that everything had been or is being stolen from you. I am doing everything I can, we are doing everything we can to prevent and undo it." Severus brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it tenderly.

“I know,” Hermione said, meeting his gaze. “I know you are doing everything you can.”

“Even so, I cannot give you back the moment that was just stolen from you, the revelation of emotions that you have been keeping close to your chest. If I could, I would,” Severus confessed, his voice heavy with the unspoken emotions he’d been so far keeping control of. “Even if I removed it from my memories, stored it in a pensieve, and allowed you to say it to me again when you were ready, with me having no knowledge of you saying it before, I know it would not mean as much to you. But…" he felt the words tangle in his throat, the feelings knotting and colliding as he tried to voice them. This was the most open he’d allowed himself to be, the most vulnerable and honest, and he was wrestling with decades of precaution and self-preservation to get here. Just as he knew he could never give her back the moment stolen by Veritaserum, he knew he could never take back the words he was about to say.

“But?” Hermione prompted, wide eyes searching his face for meaning, and her lips pressed together.

He inhaled through his nose, letting air in until he felt like he might burst before he slowly released it, letting all the things he wanted to say settle in his mind before he continued, “But I can give you something that they cannot take away. It is not a replacement or a substitution for that, but it is its own moment, with its own meaning." Squeezing her hand, Severus screwed his courage in, and told her what he’d been concealing for weeks. “I love you, Hermione.” 

“You don’t ha—”

“I do not say this because I feel obligated due to your forced confession before you worry.” He cut off her refutation, seeing already that she thought he was doing this because he felt pity that she’d been robbed of the sentimental moment. He would not have her continue another moment under that pretense. “I will not do anything I do not want to; this is the same as me taking your last name was something I wanted to do. This is my genuine confession to you, Hermione, one I have put off for some time."

Tears began to slip down her cheeks, but the hopeful smile on her face filled him with the sense that they were not tears of misery or rejection.

“I have held my own emotions close too, for many of my own reasons. I have fallen in love with you, as impossible as I am sure both of us believed it to be at one time. I know the exact moment that I finally fell, and it was not tonight in hearing your plea to be returned to me or even the first night I held you in my arms as we slept. I have loved you for several weeks at this point, and it grows as I discover more of who you are.” Severus felt as if he were the one under Veritaserum for a moment, the confession of his feelings opening the floodgates in him. His chest swelled with that same quaking feeling from the night he awoke cradled in her lap, the wash of love and affection making him feel as if his skin were tingling over his whole body. 

He didn’t know if he was doing this right; he’d never actually confessed his love in such a way before, and the only blueprint he had came from seeing others in large productions and proclamations of their love. A tendril of insecurity curled out from among the elation, hope, and love, wriggling its way into his mind. Severus slipped both of her hands into his, glancing down at how perfectly their hands seemed to fit in that moment before peering into her eyes, offering himself to her in a way he’d never done before as he let his emotions color his expression. His love, his hope, and his trepidation were all exposed without the safety of his occluded expression. “I know it is not much; I am not a man for flowery declarations and grand, over-the-top gestures, and I hope — as new as a feeling that is in this arena of my life — that my saying the words is enough. That it gives you some comfort to know that no one can ever take from you that you now hold a place in my heart that I long believed dead.”

A sob burst from her, and she pulled her hands from his, throwing her arms around his neck. “It is enough, it is more than enough, it is everything,” she cried happily, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. “I love you too. I don’t know when it happened, not like you do; it was just there one morning when I woke up and you smiled at me over coffee.”

He closed his arms around her, holding her against him so tightly he was afraid he might be hurting her. His heart felt as if it had stopped, as if it had reached its capacity for sensation and his chest had simply collapsed into itself as the surge of love quaked through him. Turning his face toward her, their lips slid together, and he tried to pour every drop of feeling he had for her into it. Severus kissed her like a man finding water after a thousand-year drought, as if she were the only reason his lungs worked and his heart beat. 

Her hands pressed against the side of his face as she kissed back just as intensely. The tingling of his skin intensified, and he lost track of where he ended and she began, only knowing that they were together in love in this moment, and that was all that mattered. 

Breathless and smiling, she broke the kiss, still holding his face as she looked up at him. “Thank you for waiting until I was in control of myself for this.”

“I know what Veritaserum feels like, and if you were given that much, I knew it would be best to wait,” he panted, releasing his hold slightly as he ran his hands up and down her back. “I did not wish to do more harm than had already been done to you.”

“I love you,” she whispered before kissing him softly again. This kiss was interrupted by a yawn on her part, and she turned her face apologetically.

“I love you too,” he replied warmly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Are you tired? It has been a long day.”

She nodded, covering her mouth, before answering, “Can we go to bed now?”

“If that is your wish,” Severus told her, leaning his head against her shoulder. 

“It is,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

The sensation of the kiss sent a shiver down his spine, and he squeezed her again before shifting off the sofa with her still in his arms. “Will you allow me to carry my wife to bed?”

Hermione let out a surprised laugh and held on to his shoulders as she nodded. “As long as you don’t hit my head on the doorframe."

The firm press of him against her, the warm wash of his breath over her shoulder, and the arm over her stomach brought her to awareness and anchored her in reality. He wasn’t snoring at this moment, for which she was grateful; instead, he was deeply, peacefully sleeping beside her. The sunlight had not yet cut through the curtains, but the blue of morning twilight was spreading across the bedroom floor.

Hermione adjusted more on her back and curled her arm around his, tracing her fingers tenderly from where his T-shirt sleeve ended down to his elbow and back up as she thought about the night before. They’d collapsed into bed, worn out and exhausted from the day, and yet, just before they both surrendered to sleep, Severus had kissed her as if he were afraid she would not be there when he woke up. It was a toe-curling kiss that had spread through her limbs and stirred more than just the newly revealed love for him. For the first time in months, Hermione felt desire sweep through her, and it had not subsided with the drifting off of sleep. It was like the start of a craving, quiet yet insistent, sitting low in her belly and asking to be sated. 

She found herself wondering what kind of lover Severus would be. In living with him, he’d not shown any signs of being selfish, but her experience with the sterner sex was that bedroom manners were not often reflected in day-to-day manners. Her eyes fell to his hand resting on her side, and she could easily imagine those long, precise fingers tracing over her skin and seeking out her pleasure points. She squeezed her thighs together as the fantasy only fanned the craving to know what heights of passion they could find together. 

There was no need to imagine his endowment; while she’d never seen it in the flesh, more mornings waking up with him had given her a good indication that Severus would not leave her wanting. Even now, if she slid her leg just slightly, she could feel him against her outer thigh. Shifting slightly as her mind traveled through the things she would like to do to her husband, she heard his breathing change. She realized she’d been gripping his arm slightly, and she released her hold, letting her hand rest against his back.

Warm lips pressed against her shoulder, his arm around her tightening as he began to rise from his slumber. Severus drew her closer, his kisses landing against the side of her neck and sending a jolt of heat through her. He said they wouldn’t do anything before they were ready, but she was certain at this moment that she was ready. 

“Severus,” she breathed out, her hand against his back flattening to hold him as closely as he was.

“Hmmm?” he answered her in a sleepy inarticulation of sound as he kissed her cheek.

Hermione turned, pressing her lips against his before she whispered into them. “I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he rumbled, his nose gliding next to hers as he squeezed her for emphasis. 

Sliding her other hand down to grasp his at her side, she slid both their hands down her body. She stopped just below her belly button, resting his hand against the waistband of her sleeping shorts. “I mean, touch me.”

Black eyes snapped open, alertness seeming to slam into him like a bludger as he stared at her. He put some distance between their faces but did not draw his hand away from her as he blinked the sleep away rapidly. His mouth did not seem to catch up with his awakeness as he tripped over his words. “Is this—do you—are you sure?”

“I am,” she nodded, dropping her hand from around his back to give him room to move away if this was not something he was interested in. Hermione was not going to force him into anything he didn’t want, just because she was lusting after him. “But I don’t want to make you if you aren’t ready.”

“You would not be making me, but I have a request,” Severus said as his eyes traveled down to where both their hands were.

Hermione was willing to accommodate a need, as long as it wasn’t something wildly uncomfortable. “Yes?”

He looked at her then, and there was a heat under the seriousness in his voice. “You will tell me the moment you want me to stop.”

A smirk slunk its way across her lips as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his, removing her hand from over his at her waistband to cup his cheek. “And if I don’t want you to stop?”

“Then I feel I have a very important confession to make,” he replied, clearing his throat.

That was not what she expected him to say, but something about the way he said it made her feel as if this was something to be concerned about. It wasn’t in his tone as much as it was the way his body stiffened slightly against hers and then immediately relaxed. “What confession?”

He took in a deep breath, lifting up so that he was resting on his elbow on the bed, his eyes shifting back and forth as if he were warring with himself before he uttered the words calmly, “You should know that I cannot get you pregnant.”

The air in her lungs felt as if it were forcefully ejected from her as she sat up now, shaking her head. Hermione had not considered that he would have interpreted it as her wanting him to impregnate her; she just wanted to experience what it was like to be with him and what it was like to be loved in such a way. “That is not what I was asking you to do! I don’t —”

“I know. But if you say you don’t want me to stop, then you need to know this,” Severus assured her, sitting up in the bed next to her. He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “If we sleep together now, or in the future, I cannot get you pregnant. I took semi-permanent preventive measures before we married.”

She felt her eyes widen as she looked at the bed, trying to decipher what he meant by that. Had he done himself harm to ensure that the ministry could not force them to have a child, and had she not known it this whole time? “Semi-permanent preventative measures? What did you do to yourself?”

He looked mildly offended, leaning back from her with a raised eyebrow. “I did nothing to myself. I went and got a vasectomy. It is a muggle proce—”

“I know what a vasectomy is,” Hermione interrupted him, wondering when he’d gone and gotten the procedure and how the Ministry hadn’t known. It then occurred to her that only she had appointments to be checked up; he’d never received a letter to be examined by the Ministry. “When did you get it done? How don’t they know?”

“My surgery was the day after your injunction in the courts failed, so about two weeks before we were married,” Severus explained, smirking smugly at his obvious duplicity against the Ministry. “I knew they would never think to check for a wizard undergoing the knife like that, and when I had my virility check during my arrest, I was still producing enough sperm for them not to suspect.”

Stunned, Hermione took in everything he just told her. There were very few wizards who would opt for surgery, and, as she understood it, there were very few muggles who would do such a thing. That he was willing to do this made her respect him immensely more, and it explained so much of his physical self-control when it came to trying to get her into bed, but it also slightly disappointed her that her desire for intimacy would now not be possible as a result. From what she understood, a vasectomy made it so that he would have difficulties with such an endeavor. She gestured to his groin, confirming her suspicions. “So you can’t, at all? Anything?”

His expression made her feel as if she’d said something wrong and not just kind of wrong, but grossly inadequate. Severus released her hand, rubbing his hand down his face before he corrected her, “I feel as if you know what a vasectomy is, but not what it does.” Severus gestured with his hand toward himself in a downward motion as he explained with a tinge of humor in his voice, “My brewing equipment works just fine; I am merely working with inert material.”

“You are sure?” she asked, some of her hope coming back with his statement. She didn’t know quite how to ask him what she wanted to know, so she used his own analogy to try to get more information. “Your stirring rod works as intended and everything, after that surgery?”

“I am very certain of that,” he confirmed with a rumble of depth to his voice. “I am also certain that I am sterile. I had my final follow-up appointment last week to test and ensure that the severed tubes had not reattached. The test came back clear.”

"Well, that is a relief,” Hermione hummed, letting this new revelation soak in. Severus could not get her pregnant, which meant there would be no accidental pregnancy, something she’d not considered in her desire-fueled yearning for him this morning. As she sat with it for a moment, she realized that before they’d even agreed to work together in that cramped waiting room turned holding room, he’d been protecting her choice in the matter. She couldn’t stop the smile on her face as she gazed at him with that realization. 

“I can’t imagine that this has sustained your ardor for me at this moment." Severus coughed, looking at the rumpled sheets and then back at her with chagrin. “But you needed to know. I could not proceed until I knew you were doing so without that fear.”

As startling a realization it was, he was wrong about it not sustaining her ardor. That needy desire for him was still there, coals softly burning, waiting to be stoked, and knowing that he’d taken this into consideration to such a degree made it glow with red heat. Hermione smirked at him, biting her lower lip slightly. Tilting her body toward him, letting the neck of her shirt fall off her shoulder, she whispered in what she hoped was more of a seductive than silly tone. “Would you find it odd if I told you that your consideration makes you slightly hotter?”

“I find the oddness in the ‘hotter’ part of that statement,” he chuckled, his eyes roaming over her exposed skin. She watched his eyes dilate slightly as he took in a deep breath. He reached out, tracing his fingers against her clavicle as he grinned at her. “Are you trying to seduce a man that you already have wrapped around your finger?”

His words slipped into her ears, bypassed her brain and went right to the simmering need inside her, igniting the coals into a fire. “Come here,” she demanded, grabbing ahold of the front of his shirt and pulling him toward her.

Their lips crashed together, his hands curling around her waist as he tugged her into his lap. She went willingly into his embrace and bit his lower lip, tugging on it gently as she let him pull her down into the mattress with him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Heat flushed through him as his mind raced with all the places he wanted to touch, wanted to kiss. Bunching up the oversized tee she wore to bed, his fingertips grazed over warm, uncharted territory, thumbs spreading across the skin on either side of her belly button, mapping her with what little concentration he possessed. It was difficult to focus on every sensation he wanted to memorize as Hermione kissed him like she was trying to suck his soul out of his chest, one of her hands creeping under his shirt and spreading fire across his skin and down to his very alert cock. Breaking the kiss, Severus gasped against her chin before nosing his way down to kiss her neck. 

Her elbow braced against the bed above his shoulder, her fingers digging into his hair as she hovered half over his body. 

Sucking against her pulse point, he circled his hands around her back, pulling her down so that he could feel her weight against him. A soft moan shuddered through him when she shifted, pulling one leg over his hips so that she was straddling his stomach. 

Lying his head back against the bed, he stared up at her with desire. With only his own hand and a very vivid imagination to sustain him for more than the last two years, Severus knew he was overly eager, hungry for her in a way he was not certain she understood or he could explain. Anything he’d indulged in before this with another person had never had the emotional weight coloring his desires, evoking a need to possess her and draw as much pleasure from her as she would willingly give him. It was an intense sensation, this craving for her, for contact, for intimacy that he’d long been deprived of. 

In the back of his mind, even with the carnal urges flooding his thoughts, he was afraid of pushing too far in the wake of his neediness, taking more than she wanted to give, crossing unspoken lines, and, ultimately, being too much. 

“Promise me,” he panted under her, his hands still pushing her shirt up as he spoke. “That you will say if I do something you don’t want, if you want me to stop.”

“I promise,” she vowed, leaning down to kiss him, pressing insistantly at his lips. “Let me help you with this,” Hermione whispered against his lips before sitting back and pulling her shirt over her head, exposing that she was braless. She smiled down at him as her long curly hair fell over her shoulders, her shirt falling somewhere out of view.

Severus stared up at her in awe, hands falling to her thighs. His eyes roamed over her, noting the lightly brown freckles speckled over her entire torso. Every tan line from last summer's bathing suit was exposed to him now; he could see the outline of it, and everything it had been covering. A long white scar wove its way between her breasts, as if it were a river running through a glorious valley that he wanted to press his face into. Spurred to action, Severus curled forward as his hands glided up her stomach. He craved tasting her skin, to trail his tongue over every tan line and claim that sunless expanse of her body as his own. 

He cupped her breasts, his thumbs smoothing over her nipples as they began to harden under his attention. He conquered her pale skin with his mouth, kissing and sucking as he made the trek across her chest. Hermione uttered a gasp that vibrated his lips as he sucked at the top of her scar, his hands groping her breasts firmly. Emboldened, he continued his venture, kissing his way down until his face was between them, and he sucked against the skin there, humming into her breast bone with every exhale.

Her hands slid down his back, grabbing at the fabric there and pulling it up insistently. Severus did not want to break from his attention to the masterpiece that was her body, but he had little choice as she pulled his shirt over his head, exposing just as much of his skin to her wandering touch. If he were not as preoccupied, he would have felt a twitch of shame at how imperfect his body was compared to hers, but his only objective was to worship at the altar he’d been granted permission to see.

An angry meow ruptured the sounds of their exploration, followed by a series of thuds and insistent scratches at the door. The housebeast was hungry and demanding attention. 

Hermione stilled, her head turning from Severus toward the door.

A streak of possessive jealousy raced through him. Severus would not be sacrificing his time with Hermione for the housebeast. 

Crookshanks was not the king of this castle today; Severus was.

With that thought in his mind, he threw his hand out to the door, channeling as much energy as he could into the wandless spell. The latch turned, the door flew open, and the distant sound of kibble filling the metal bowl echoed up the stairwell. With a triumphant meow, the orange kneazle rushed out of the room, and Severus slammed the door closed behind him. 

“This is my time,” he rumbled into her skin, resuming his attention to her chest.

She laughed before pressing kisses to the top of his head. "Yes, it is.”

Severus would have happily continued to kiss and grope her, but she seemed to have other plans in mind as she slid back farther from him, her ass grazing over his hard-on as she moved. He sucked in his lower lip as he closed his fist and his eyes, trying to tame the illicit moan that tried to wrench itself from his throat. He opened his eyes when he felt her lift off of him, only to find her shimmying out of both her shorts and her underwear.

His jaw dropped, eyes unsure of where to look first as he beheld her naked form. She was perfect, more perfect than he’d imagined, than he ever could have. 

“Those need to go, Severus,” she told him, gesturing to his tented sleep pants with her index finger.

His mind took it like an order, and Severus reacted as though she were someone he was willing to be commanded by, quickly shifting and lifting his hips as he removed the rest of his clothing, kicking them off of the bed with perhaps more eagerness than he’d planned to show. In a moment of clarity, Severus realized he didn’t just want to possess Hermione; he wanted to be possessed. He wanted her to know that he was hers.

His attention was stolen from those thoughts as Hermione sat down on his knees, her hands gliding up his thighs and making his cock twitch and his stomach tense. 

“Can I?” she breathed out, her hands stopping just before she reached the dark thatch of hair at his groin.

He struggled to find words as much as he struggled to not push his hips up into her hands. “By all means,” he finally rasped.

A shudder rattled through him as her hands encircled him, squeezing as she stroked him down and then back up. Hermione held his gaze as she stroked him, her lips slightly parted in a hungry smile. She pushed his foreskin back with her thumb, rubbing the slit smoothly before squeezing him all the way down to the base again. Severus dug his hands into the sheets, resisting his body's impulse to thrust into her hand as he focused on breathing.

All thoughts of breathing stopped when she lowered her head and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. A wheeze escaped him, but he could not inhale as she stared into his very soul with his dick in her mouth. All logical thought was gone; all that existed was her, and he felt the world fade out as she began to move, sucking him off with a skill that he was not prepared for in the slightest. She stroked what she did not suck with one hand while the other hand fondled his balls. She gave them a gentle squeeze, drawing them away from his body, but before he could process that pleasure, he was confronted with the overwhelming sensation of her swallowing him to the hilt. His mouth fell open with an ungodly loud moan as he felt himself in the back of her throat.

Gut clenching, his body reacted with an immediacy and intensity that made his eyes feel as if they were bulging out of his head. Before he could stop it, before he could think of something distasteful to prevent it, he felt himself falling over the edge into orgasm. Severus reached for her head, trying to pull her away and give her some warning, but he was not quick enough. His mind went blank, his hearing gone and his vision blurring as his hips jerked, and he spilled himself into her mouth with a guttural groan of ecstasy. He barely registered himself falling back against the bed, his lungs burning as he sucked in air.

It was a moment before he heard anything but the thundering of his own heartbeat, and he could focus, but how long that moment was, Severus did not know. What he did know was that there was a naked woman pressed against his side, her hand on the center of his chest, tracing her fingers through the black hairs that covered it.

While Severus did not know cuddling etiquette, he was painfully aware of the fact that it was bad sex manners to ejaculate in your partner's mouth with no warning or prior agreement. Turning his head, still panting, he apologized and complimented her in equal measure. “I’m sorry, you were more skilled than I was prepared for; I tried to warn you.”

“That was by design; I wanted to taste you,” she confessed as she smirked, biting her lower lip as a blush crept over her face. “I wondered how it would taste. It is uniquely you, and I love it.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his orgasmic, slogged mind processing the layers of that statement and that she was somehow not angry at him for coming both so quickly and without warning. His body felt a little bit like what he imagined a jellyfish did, having not had that intense of a blowjob before. “I hope your scientific pursuits were worth the delay we must now face,” he replied, inhaling deeply as he was still trying to catch his breath. 

“Oh, they were,” she chimed with satisfaction. “Well worth the wait.”

There was something about the way she said it that sent pleasure through his spine even as his body was recovering. His eyes trailed down her naked form, committing each dip and curve to memory as a renewed desire to explore her awoke in him. Catching his breath finally, he turned his body toward her, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Then you’d best prepare for me to take my time with you,” he promised against her mouth.

Without the impetus of his own arousal pressing against his mind, he could focus. Taking her hand from against his chest, he brought it to his lips, tenderly placing a kiss on the pad of each finger. Severus kissed her palm and then her wrist gently, trailing his lips down the inside of her arm in slow, reverent adoration. He watched the goosebumps spread over her bicep as he lavished her with his full, undivided attention. When his lips met her shoulder, he sought her other hand, repeating the process all over again.

Hermione was breathing shallowly, her pupils wide as her other hand caressed his skin, touching him with a delicate sweep of her fingers across his chest and up and down the side of his neck. It made the scar tissue there tingle when she traced it with her thumb, before she was leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

Severus lifted himself off the mattress, positioning himself so that he was hovering over her on only slightly trembling hands and knees. Bowing his head, he kissed her skin with the thoroughness of a scholar seeking hidden knowledge. He traced her clavicle with his tongue before shifting lower, securing one of her nipples between his lips. He listened to her every breath and whimper and whispered praise and watched as her skin jumped as he experimented with pressure and suction, seeking to discover what brought her the most pleasure. He grazed his teeth over her areola and smiled when she sucked in a breath, her fingers digging into his shoulders. With this knowledge in hand, he switched sides, feeling a flush of satisfaction when she cursed his name for his actions.

With a mixture of hesitance and thrill, he began to chart his way down her stomach with his lips, tracing patterns across her freckles with his tongue, pausing to experimentally bite her just below her ribs. She sucked a surprised breath and tensed, her knees bending slightly under him and her hand pressing flat against his shoulder. He glanced up, searching her gaze for reproach, but all he found was excited eagerness and heat.

Taking it as encouragement, Severus nipped at her left hip and then kissed across her belly to nip at her right. All the while, he was slowly lowering himself down her body. Finally, when his chin rested just above the apex of her thighs, Severus paused, another searching glance in her direction.

Hermione was lying back with her head propped up on a pillow, watching him with a hunger in her eyes, but he needed to hear that he was wanted between her thighs.

“Yes?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the boundary he wanted to cross while staring into her eyes.

“Yes!” 

It was a demand, a plea, a shout, and a whisper all in one syllable. 

It coiled through him, stirring his own need ever so slightly as he felt the heady rush of being desired in such a way. He adjusted her legs, spreading them with one hand to accommodate him as he lowered himself down onto the mattress. There was a glisten to her, and he could feel the warm heat of her at this distance. 

Severus kissed the inside of her thigh, still set on exploring her before he brought her to the summit of her passion. He paid attention to how her knees seemed to shake on either side of his arms the closer he got to where she wanted him, stopping and switching to the other thigh with the same slow kisses. 

He heard her whine, and he looked up from his exploration. The sight of her from between her thighs was something he wanted carved into the inside of his skull, an image he could never lose or have taken away from his memories. 

“I did warn you I would be taking my time,” he reminded her before he pressed a kiss to the top of her mons. “Is it too much?”

“No,” she whined, her hands twisting knots into the sheets at her sides.

"Patience, love,” he told her, and he felt her thighs clench against his shoulders. Perhaps he was teasing her just a little too much. The hope in his chest told him there would be other times to explore her more thoroughly, and right now she needed more than his tender affection poured into her skin.

Spreading her open with his fingers, Severus turned his focus to her sex. He lapped his tongue over the bump of nerves, rejoicing internally when she turned her knees inward against his arms and cried out. Knowing what he was looking for now, he slipped his arms under her thighs, holding her legs open as he buried his face in her cunt. He sucked on the spot that had just made her shudder before pressing his tongue flat against it. She tensed and twisted under his hands, and that only encouraged him to keep going. Severus began to write a love letter with his tongue over her clit, sucking as punctuation to all the words he wanted her body to know at its baser level. 

Hermione began to arch her back, a steady keen of pleasure echoing in their bedroom. “Please, right there, oh please, Severus,” she begged hotly, one hand twisted into his hair as the other continued to fist the sheet with white knuckles.

He forced her legs to remain open as she tensed them so that her thighs did not muffle the holy-to-him sound of her pleasure. Each passion-wrapped syllable was shooting directly through him from his ears to his awakening cock. 

Severus knew she was close to coming undone. He could tell by how she’d begun to ride his face, her hips rocking against his mouth as he continued to write his praise for her in a language that only he and her clit knew.

A breathless prayer of his name echoed in the room as she shrieked, and he pushed her over the edge. Moisture soaked his chin, and he could no longer hold her legs open, her thighs clamping around his head as she curled forward from the mattress, her ankles digging into his back as she rode out her orgasm. 

Severus understood immediately why Vikings thought that they would go to Valhalla if they died in giving this kind of immense pleasure to their women, because he could not think of a better way he would have liked to suffocate in that moment. She prevented him from drawing back and getting a breath of air with her legs holding him in place. Fortunately, before he did expire and lose out on future chances to do this to her, her whole body went slack, thighs falling open as she collapsed back on the bed, gasping heavily as if she’d just run a race.

Taking in a needed breath, he extracted himself from her quaking legs, staring at her in wonder. She was completely undone and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before, her eyes closed as her chest rose and fell. Severus began to kiss his way back up her body, embedding his love for her with each kiss against her hot skin, hoping that this territory was his to mark now.

His hard-on had recovered at the sight of her cresting in ecstasy, and he wanted her now, more than he’d ever wanted another person in his life. Severus didn’t want to fuck her; he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to surrender his senses into her embrace and come out a changed man afterwards. 

“Hermione,” he whispered as he came to lie at her side, hoping he’d not dashed those chances now that she was sated. 

She turned toward him with a sluggish but elated smile, shifting so that her chest was pressed against his chest. “Yes, Severus?”

"Do you still want more?” he breathed out, full of both hope and need.

That orgasm erased all previous memories of orgasms from her memory, not that she could clearly remember any others as her body began to sink into the soft haze of post-orgasmic bliss. Her concerns about him being a selfish lover were long gone, discarded somewhere with their clothing on the floor. 

When the question left his lips, she felt her body react before she could even articulate her desire, pressing against him more fully. Hermione never considered herself greedy, but in this instance, she knew she wanted all he would willingly give her. Looking at him, she also knew she wanted the one thing she felt like she didn’t have much of in her current life; she wanted to be in control.

“Yes, I want you,” she replied, forcing her limbs to respond as she shifted, pushing herself into a seated position. “I want to be on top.”

Severus put his hand under her side, bracing her as he joined her in sitting up, excitement and interest widening his heated gaze as he joined her in sitting up. He grinned lewdly at her. “Who am I to deny my wife what she wants?’

The way he said ‘my wife’ caused a flutter of feelings in her chest, both warm and affectionate, but also hungry and heated. Hermione put her hands on his shoulders, urging him backwards in the bed until his back was against the headboard. There was something intoxicating about the fact that he wordlessly moved where she instructed him, that Severus was yielding power to her in a way she was absolutely certain that he did not give anyone else. 

Climbing into his lap, Hermione ran her hands over his skin, trailing her fingers through the black hair that spread from the center of his chest and trailed down to his torso. She followed its path with her fingers, softly gliding her fingertips over his erection. Wrapping her fingers around him, she relished in the silky feeling of his skin as she pressed a kiss to his lips, swallowing the groan that escaped them. 

His hands were all over her, sending sparks of desire through her body like fireworks across the night sky. He groped her breasts, squeezed her side, and traced her neck with his fingertips, each action reawakening the coals of desire in her for him. And this time, she was going to have all of him.

After another slow stroke, Hermione broke their kiss, crawling forward on her knees as she held him right where she wanted him. Looking into his eyes, she searched for hesitance, for resistance, but all she found was Severus staring at where their bodies would soon meet with a need so great she could feel it in her own body. His hands fell to her hips, thumbs bracing against her skin in a way that felt possessive.

Exhaling as she sat down on his erection, she went slow, her eyes fluttering closed as she took in each inch of him. The burn of the stretch made her gasp out; it had been some time since she’d been with anyone, and the feeling of fullness was a welcome relief after more than two years of sexual abstinence. When their bodies were flush, she opened her eyes with a satisfied huff. She was still sensitive from her last orgasm, but she wanted to savor this, to relish the feeling of being so full of Severus.

Hermione drew in another breath, setting her weight against him and grasping his shoulders. Severus kissed her, softly sucking her bottom lip between his lips before releasing it. She leaned into the kiss, licking along the seam of his lips for entry. He welcomed her with his own tongue, one of his hands grabbing a handful of hair at the back of her head as their faces tilted with their open-mouth kissing. She plundered his mouth, filling him with her tongue as she was filled with his cock, before retreating and letting him do the same to her. They kissed, mimicking the carnal act to come with their tongues, and Hermione let the sensuality of the moment wash through her.

Breaking the kiss, Severus raised an eyebrow at her, squeezing her hip as he ran his other hand along the side of her face. “Are you enjoying warming my cock, or is this the part where I am expected to talk dirty to you to get you to move?”

Hermione had not been thinking about the prospect that dirty talk was even an option. “Can you talk dirty?”

“Probably not very well,” Severus told her in amusement with a half-shrug, "But I’m not afraid to try.”

A laugh erupted out of her at his self-awareness and his humor in a time like this. She felt herself clench around him on reflex.

Severus sucked in a deep breath, his legs tensing under her. “Perhaps I should make you laugh instead; that felt rather good.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” she said, even as she felt a smile spreading across her face. “I might lose balance and hurt the both of us.”

Severus pushed her hair out of her face, his eyes softening in an expression she didn’t think she’d ever seen on his face. His features relaxed, every harsh line smoothing. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he murmured reverently, his thumb tracing over her lips.

Her heart squeezed at his words, that undeniable feeling of love flooding her senses, mingling with her lust for him. It was a thrilling sensation. “Is this your version of dirty talk?” she asked breathlessly.

"No." He shook his head as he spoke softly. “I am just in awe of you and thought you should know. You should know how incredibly awe-inspiring you are, and not because of your brain; hell, not even your body." He paused, his hot gaze moving over her skin with such weight that she could practically feel him touching her with his eyes. “Although, do not mistake me, it is an incredible body you have, but that isn’t the beauty I am seeing right now."

“Severus,” she mouthed, his name around an exhale of awe.

He continued praising her, both hands now smoothing her hair from her face as he cradled it in his palms. “The beauty I am seeing is in your eyes, the happiness on your face, and the way your lips cradle your smile so effortlessly that it makes me want to smile seeing it.” 

“I love it when you smile,” she admitted, rocking her hips ever so slightly. She felt hot and needy, his words causing a spike of love dripping in desire to pulse through her. Putting her hands on his chest, she flexed her thighs, pressing her body up as she let him glide out of her. She mourned every missing inch, having become accustomed to him so deep within her, and so she sunk back down quicker than she’d lifted herself.

Severus’ hands clapped against her hips, and his voice was wispy and pleading. “Move slowly, love; I want to savor this.”

It was the second time he’d said that word and called her that pet name, and it had the same exact response. Her gut clenched, her eyes fluttering closed as euphoria joined the concoction in her veins. Hermione could feel the meaning of that single syllable and knew that it was not a word that this man ever used lightly. “Call me that again,” she half-begged as she continued to rise and fall on him slowly.

“Love?” Severus repeated experimentally, as if he were unsure if that is what she meant.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded, exhaling. “I know it is silly and common, but it means so much more when you say it, because…” She sank down on him until he was to the hilt again.

He let out a deep groan and squeezed her hips as he asked for her to finish. “Because?”

“Because you mean it, and I can feel how much you mean it when you say it,” she gasped as she increased the tempo as the need in her grew.

“I do mean it, love,” Severus agreed. His hips lifted to meet hers, their bodies slapping together with a sound that echoed through the room. He smoothed his hands up her sides, his eyes falling from her face to her chest. “Gods, you are incredible.”

Hermione watched as his eyes followed the bounce of her tits, and she arched her back slightly toward him as she teased him. “I sense you don’t mean my smile this time.”

“I do,” he exhaled, glancing up at her like he’d be caught, his hands moving to cup her. “But forgive me for also being a man and being distracted by your glorious tits,” he confessed before leaning forward and sucking one of her nipples into his mouth.

She felt his teeth drag over her nipple, and her head tilted back as she rode him, letting out a moan. “Oh yes, you are forgiven.”

His actions pushed her to move faster, her inner thighs burning with the exercise as she began to chase her bliss. Lifting nearly off of him until she could barely feel the tip of him, she arched her back as she slammed down on him, their bodies meeting together with a force that sent ecstasy through her veins.

Still sucking and biting at her breasts, Severus wrapped one hand around her waist, helping her with the motion as he bent his knees, changing the angle. His other hand was squeezed between them as he pressed his thumb sloppily against her clit. Sweat ran down her back as she felt herself quivering around him. Her thighs tensed as the first whisper of her second orgasm swept through her.

Severus pulled her flush to him, grinding against her as she shook and quaked with each intense spasm of hedonistic rapture. Every nerve fired, her whole body feeling as if it were too small to contain the sensations crashing together inside of her. From her crown to her toes, she felt as if she were being completely obliterated by bliss, fracturing and then reforming as an implosion. Her core clenched around him, pushing all the air from her lungs, and she cried out. She kissed him hard, pulling his face against hers as she breathed her bliss into his mouth, pouring it all into the press of her lips as her mind went blank and the only word she could pant against him was ‘yes!’

He began to thrust again erratically, driving the movement until his grunt of pleasure flooded through her senses. His body convulsed under her, and the pressure of being filled with him was increased by the hot wash of him spilling into her.

Hermione draped herself limply against him, the aftershocks making muscles twitch around him as he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her chest. 

At first, all she could hear was her heartbeat and her harsh breathing, as she held his head to her chest. The fog of pleasure began to fade, and she became aware of another sound. Severus was whispering as he pressed kisses to her sternum. It was a repetitiously murmured litany of “I love you," said with so much emotion that she was certain he was trying to bury the words into her breastbone so that they could never leave.

“I love you too,” she affirmed, kissing the top of his head. 

Severus shuddered in her arms, his head tilting back to gaze up at her, his eyes waterlined and so full of emotion that it stole her breath away. Curling toward him, her brown hair cascading over both of them, she kissed his lips tenderly, repeating the words so that he knew they were just as true as the ones he spoke.

In a slow and tender slide, they both sunk into the mattress, holding each other with a tight reverence. The sun was up, cutting through the slit in the curtain and casting rays over their naked skin as they kissed softly in the post-bliss haze of their lovemaking. Hermione never wanted to leave this bed or leave his arms. This is where she felt the safest, most protected, and more loved than she ever had in her adult life. Time slowed, each heartbeat like an hour as she lay in the sanctuary of their bed, where the horrors of the world outside had no power over them.

Eventually, Severus shifted so that he slid out of her, rolling to his side so that he could pull the covers over them both. “Once I am recovered, I am making you breakfast, anything you want," he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Breakfast did sound good, and she was hungry after such an energy expenditure this early in the morning. She pressed her body against his for warmth and to keep the connection she felt to him alive. What sounded better than breakfast, however, was to revisit this state of bliss and bonding again in the afternoon. “Can I have you for lunch?”

“Love, I am not into cannibalism, and nothing you can do will convince me otherwise," Severus told her flatly, with a wide smile on his face.

It was impossible for her to not laugh, especially as his baritone chuckles joined hers. She pushed his shoulder, shaking her head as she caught her breath. “You know what I meant.”

“I did,” he agreed, still smiling as he traced her lips with his thumb. “But I wanted to hear your laugh one more time before we got out of bed.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

It took them considerably longer to leave the confines of the bed so that he could make good on his offer of breakfast. When they arrived downstairs, Crookshanks was still from eating the massively overfilled bowl, the pile nearly as tall as him and spread over the sides to the floor.

Severus didn’t feel the least bit ashamed and told her as much with a satisfied smile.

While she tried to scoop some of the food back into the container, he made her eggs and toast at her request. While he waited for the coffee to brew, he snuck glimpses of her, inhaling deeply at the beauty of her, especially when the light from the window would catch a strand of her hair, making it shine like bronze.

He was still floating on the elation of their morning together, but it was not the sex alone that made him feel aloft. It was the connection, the taut draw he felt on his own beating heart toward her, and the reciprocation of those emotions she’d given him. It made his bones feel hollow and lightweight, as opposed to the heavy dull ache that had resided there for years.

Hermione joined him in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his waist as he minded the eggs to not burn them. He felt her press a kiss to the center of his back, the skin on his shoulders and arms prickling in goosebumps in response. Severus placed his free hand over her clasped ones around him, savoring the sensation. 

“I think you should know something.” Hermione breathed against his back, and he felt the press of her forehead between his shoulderblades.

“Just one thing?” he quipped as he plated the eggs.

“Ha ha, very funny,” she said against his back, but there was no actual humor in her words. 

Severus froze, the lightness in him hanging in a stasis in the uncertainty that her response planted in his gut. “That you did not laugh has me concerned. What is wrong?”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath; he could feel the breeze of it against his skin, before she exhaled against him, her voice anxiously quiet. “I’m still going to fight this law.”

“Naturally.” His eyebrows went up in confusion as he turned the hob off. He did not understand why she thought he did not already know this. Turning in her arms, he needed to look at her; he needed to see her expression in case there was something he was missing. 

Brown eyes peered up at him with worry etched in them. “You aren’t upset.”

“Why should I be?” he asked, curling his hands around her back to pull her against his chest. Her eyes were tight, her forehead creased, and her lips bowed down in a slight frown. Severus realized that Hermione was not only nervous; she appeared to be afraid. “Are you upset?”

Her curls swished over his forearms as she shook her head. “No, it's just—” She worried her bottom lip for a moment. “I just mean, we obviously are together now.” Releasing him, she placed her hand against his chest just above his cautiously beating heart. “We both love each other, and well, this marriage is finally consummated.”

He tilted his head as he tried to connect the lines between these two things. To him, the marriage and their feelings for each other were vastly different things. There had been no other option for them than to be married, but they had both chosen to fall for each other in their own time. While one set the setting for the other to occur, he didn’t think they were unbreakably attached.

Their lovemaking this morning did not change his desire to burn the Ministry to the ground, to make them choke on their own ink, and to rip every right they’d taken away with this law back. In fact, it had increased his want to do these things, to make the world better for her, to make it a place deserving of her, and to never have to watch her anguish over what the Ministry could do to her body again. He loved her regardless of if the law was in place or not, and he wanted her to be a part of his life now, even after they defeated it. She was the only partner he wanted at his side as he sought a way to force-feed the Minister his own gonads.

“Yes, we are together; I do love you,” Severus agreed with her, hoping she would see it as he did. “But you did not choose to marry me.”

“I —” she started, her eyes moving back and forth with the speed of her thoughts. Confusion colored her expression as she glanced back up at him. “I was afraid you might think we wouldn’t fight it anymore.”

“Hermione,” he whispered softly, squeezing her closer to him. “My love for you does not come with the stipulation that we remain married when it was not our choice and we were forced into it.”

It occurred to him that Hermione didn’t know that he wasn’t fighting this law only on his behalf, or for his comfort. Severus had been fighting this law from the beginning because of the horrors he knew it would bring. The writing was on the wall for the nightmare situations it would create. Situations like Millie’s, where she was forced to have a baby with a man who did not want her or the child; or that of Miss Lovegood, who was now rotting in a cell in Azkaban because she would not relinquish her love for Miss Johnson; or Hermione’s peers, who were forced from their education by spouses who did not approve of an educated wife; or that of the numerous others who were coerced into participating in this legally approved rape, masquerading as a statute to save the wizarding race. 

Hermione’s freedom, and his own, was one small piece of his drive to undo this law. It had not occurred to him, before this moment, that his motivations were only thought to be selfish for them. Or that she would think once they had reached contentment that there was no need to strive for it for others and give back the choice that was robbed from them.

“I want this law abolished as much as you do,” he swore, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his in the closeness. “We are still in this together?” she confirmed, the anxiety gone as hope flooded her whiskey eyes.

“I will still fight this law alongside you, and we are going to overturn it,” Severus affirmed, leaning back so that he wasn’t cross-eyed while telling her his intentions. “Where our relationship goes from there will be up to us, not the Ministry’s decree.”

“Even though we're going to end up divorcing?” 

Severus was not the sort of wizard who looked at divorce as a death sentence to their feelings, to their shared affection and enjoyment of each other. He considered that he might even love her more if it were her choice to remain with him and that she chose him to do so. She had his heart now; paperwork or not, it had escaped the cage of his ribs and had curled into hers, tucking against her heart like a lovebird having found its soulmate. A divorce would not change that or how he felt about her. “I would rather love you as your ex-husband than be in a forced marriage.”

"I would rather that too.” She smiled like the parting of clouds on a gloomy day, the light of her happiness shining on him as she pressed up to kiss him. “But I didn’t want you to think that me fighting the law still meant that this relationship means nothing to me.”

“I believe you told me last night it means everything to you,” Severus echoed her words during his confession of love back to her, smoothing his hand over the top of her hair.

“I did. It does.”

Those words broke the stillness of his heart, letting the lightness return as the slowly creeping walls of ice receded. Nothing else mattered in the grand scope of things to him, as long as she continued to feel this way about him and would allow him to show her how deeply he felt about her. The dismantling of the law was an obstacle, not a destination.

“Then we continue as planned,” he confirmed, grabbing his wand and sending the breakfast plates to the table. “Now make your coffee so I can beat you at the crossword.”

As horrific as being held hostage by Neville and Ron had been, somehow, Severus and Millicent had managed to turn it into a political nightmare for the Daily Prophet and, by proxy, the Ministry puppeteering it. A ‘well-written source close to the Grangers and the Weasleys’ had submitted a detailed account of how the paper had inspired Ron into a frenzy that resulted in him luring Hermione away with the intention of hurting her child.

This was corroborated by Ron’s own account as he tried to explain why he was in excruciating pain when he’d landed in the atrium of St. Mungo's. An ‘unrevealed patient’ shared an account with the Prophet that evening. It had also been mentioned that Baranabas Cuffe, who was being released from St. Mungo's at the time of Ron’s arrival, had another heart episode as he realized that Severus had been the source of Ron’s pain. Whatever Severus had done to Ron was so bad and so complex that the Healers had actually reached out to Severus to seek a way to undo it. 

According to what Hermione heard him tell the Healer through the Floo call, it was an easily resolved curse; Ron needed to sincerely apologize to the woman he’d hurt the most, and she needed to accept it; otherwise, the only relief he would find was to geld himself or have someone do it for him.

During said call, Hermione lay on the sofa, facing away from the floo with Crookshanks lying on her stomach. Severus had asked her to be there only for a witness to see she was with him and alive, but she made a point to sniffle emphatically when Severus decried what had been done to his wife by ‘that sorry excuse for a wizard’ to deserve such a curse. 

The week after was quiet, with Hermione only going to her classes and coming straight home. Professor Payne had taken her aside, informing her that Thomas Walker had been unenrolled by the Dean once it came out that he’d attacked a pregnant student on campus. Hermione did not confirm or deny the pregnancy, just as Severus had advised, but thanked the Professor for looking out for her.

Neville had tried to speak to her, to reason with her, but she would hear none of it. She asked Professor Quinos to move her to a different group, taking a risk on her grade to transplant her Mandragoria in a flowering state to another greenhouse to gain as much distance from him as possible. Neville looked hurt, but Hermione didn’t believe he was sorry and couldn’t trust him, so it didn’t have the same pull on her heartstrings as it would have in the past. She didn't speak to him after that, ignoring all of his attempts, and it was only through the grapevine that she learned that he’d been in some kind of accident on his way home and had to skip his classes for a week.

And then, two days before her second scheduled appointment with Healer Carmen, Severus unleashed his fury on the wizarding world. It was frightening how angry he was and appeared in public. He’d managed, somehow, to catch the Minister during a press conference and went into a screaming snit, yelling that he should answer for the death of their child. In front of the Wizarding World and both the news reporters and the wireless correspondents, Severus demanded satisfaction and nearly challenged him to a duel. It was all over the afternoon paper and the evening news broadcast that because the paper had revealed she was pregnant so early and caused Ron and an ‘unknown accomplice’ to kidnap her and overdose her on a potion, Hermione had endured, in Severus’ words, a ‘horrific and traumatizing miscarriage that she only survived because he is a potions master with blood replenishers on hand.’ 

Headlines like ‘Granger Demands Justice for Infanticide Caused By Ministry Pressure’ and ‘Weasley Investigated by Officials in Granger Baby Death’ took over the paper for weeks.

And Hermione was sent a letter of condolence from St. Mungos and a rescheduling of her appointment for another sixteen weeks. Immediately after the news broke, a healer did come by the house, but Severus forbade them from examining her beyond a cursory health check because he would ‘not allow her to suffer more brutality at the hands of a ministry official.’

Harry had tried to come by with condolences, but Hermione didn’t want to see him. She told Severus, in front of Harry, that she didn’t have the desire or energy for condolences from someone who supported the law to the point that he would allow Ron to treat both Millie and Hermione like this. Hermione had looked at him pointedly, eyes red with tears of frustration, as she told him if he really felt sorry, he’d start fighting for them instead of being a ‘good boy’ to the Ministry that put her through this.

The only visits that Hermione had accepted were from Millie and, surprisingly, one from Horace Slughorn. He’d arrived with a small bouquet of flowers, expressed his deepest sympathies, and then he and Severus descended to the lab for several hours. Hermione was left with the feeling that Severus had told him what was going on when he left, as he gave her a knowing and almost proud smile when he left.

But a very important visitor was coming today, and Hermione could not contain her excitement as she bounced on the balls of her feet and then back to her heels. Severus was sitting at his typewriter, with Crookshanks curled up in his lap as he worked on his manuscript while she paced in excitement.

The fireplace turned green, and she rushed toward it just as Viktor stepped through, his arms laden with bags and a wiggling Pekingese.

“My Skǔp, Severus, I have arrived for the fun visit!” he declared, holding his arms out as he saw her.

“Viktor!” Hermione threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly in a hug. Master Fluffers gave her a wheezy whine, and she broke away from Viktor, taking the small fluffy dog into her arms. “Master Fluffers! Oh I missed you so much!”

“I have brought cake and cookies!” Viktor offered, holding the bags aloft.

Hermione held Master Fluffers up and nuzzled her face to his belly as she declared, “And the love of my life!” She was busy placing kisses on the top of the wriggling dog's head and telling him how precious he was. His tail was flapping like a flag in the wind, the soft, happy yips filling her with joy. 

Severus made a disgruntled noise, and she heard him pull out his chair. “Crookshanks and I are no longer needed, it seems. We’ve both been dethroned by a dog.”

“He has not dethroned anyone.” Hermione let out a laugh, squeezing Master Fluffers to her as he tried to lick her face while she turned to the actual love of her life. “You know that you both have a very special irreplaceable place in my heart, and so does this sweet baby dog.”

Hermione watched as Viktor approached Severus, his free hand out for a handshake. “Sir, thank you for letting me come to your home.”

“Severus is fine; I don’t like to be called 'sir' in my own house,” he replied, gently nudging Crookshanks from his lap as he stood and took the other man’s hand. “And I believe we can be on a first-name basis, Viktor, as you said in one of your letters; we are like family through my wife.”

“I am proud to call you such, sir—Severus." Viktor’s deep voice took on that squeak quality that Hermione knew meant he was emotional. 

Joining the two of them as their handshake broke, still carrying Master Fluffers, she leaned her head against Severus' shoulder. “I am so happy to have you both in the same room. I have been excited all day for this afternoon.

“She has; our carpet can attest to the pacing,” Severus laughed, and she felt him press a kiss to the side of her head.

Hermione caught the change in Viktor’s expression, how his lips curled slightly and his eyes crinkled in the inner corner.

“You are a worthy husband of my Skǔp,” Viktor croaked, his hands clasped together in front of him.

“I endeavor to remain so,” Severus replied deeply.

Hermione felt her heart squeeze at his words, the warm waves of his love for her lapping at her like the ocean kissing the shore. Swallowing back her own emotions, she finally leaned down, letting Master Fluffers down to the floor.

Immediately he charged at Crookshanks, who flicked his tail back and forth, golden eyes narrowing. As soon as the dog approached, Crookshanks leaned up on his back feet and pressed one of his paws against the Pekingese’s head, without claws, halting his approach. Master Fluffers bowed his head forward, tail never having stopped its exhausting wave and barked. 

Hermione watched as her familiar made an expression that she was sure he stole from Severus, an almost eyeroll of indulgence, before he dropped to his four paws, licked the front of the dog’s head, and then rubbed his body along the body of the hyper dog. Before she knew it, the two of them were zipping through the sitting room, changing who was chasing whom on each circuit.

“I see they get along well,” Severus mused, shifting his weight to his other leg as they tore past him under his desk and back out.

Hermione nodded with a satisfied smile. “Crookshanks half raised him; he was already an old man when Master Fluffers was a puppy.”

“He was a very good mentor. Crooksie is the reason that Master Fluffers is so well behaved,” Viktor agreed.

The three of them watched the animals for a moment before Severus cleared his throat. “I hear you’ve invited us to Croatia. How are you liking it?” 

“Yes, you and Hermione must come; this dreary rainsoaked country is not worthy of her beauty, and I could teach you how to windsurf; it is exhilarating,” Viktor started excitedly as he regaled them with the merits of the places he visited and how much he would love to share that with them both now.

Severus was shaken awake abruptly, Hermione’s warm hands on his shoulder.

“We have to go now!” she yelled in the darkness, sliding off her side of the bed with an urgency that confused him.

Blinking, he sat up, searching for the source of danger that must have caused this, his wand already in his hand. “What is wrong?”

Hermione pulled on pants at the foot of the bed, hopping into them. “The baby is coming!”

Confusion seized his brain as he tried to parse the meaning of this. They were not expecting a baby; she wasn’t pregnant; he’d made sure of that not happening.

Was this a dream?

“Millie is on her way to St. Mungo’s right now; her water broke!” Hermione yelled, shoving her arms through her robes. “GET UP!”

That made everything much clearer, and on her command, he was flinging himself from the sheets, summoning items as he too folded himself into his clothing. 

In what felt like lightning speed, they were both suddenly through the floo, rushing to the maternity ward without a care of who saw them. Severus made it into the door of her room first, catching himself on the doorframe as he slid into it. “We’re here!”

“You didn’t need to rush,” Millie scoffed, sitting on a hospital bed with crossed arms. “I’m fine, this is barely painful.”

Hermione scooted into the room behind him, making her way toward the bed as Severus caught his breath. “I didn’t want you to do this alone.”

“Who says she’s alone?” a gruff voice from behind him sounded, making Severus turn abruptly to see the towering figure of his former student standing there. “Mister Goyle, I wasn’t aware you were there,” he said, as he made way for the man to enter the room.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Mister Granger,” Greg said with an amused hum to his voice. He crossed the room to the woman in the hospital bed, handing her a cup. “I have your ice.”

Severus had never been to a delivery before, and he had no idea what he was meant to do at one to help Millie through it. Hermione had taken residence at her heavily pregnant friend's side, discussing the edits she’d suggested to her novel between holding her hand through contractions. Goyle had taken position just by the door, his attention obviously divided between Millie and the hallways. Not knowing what he should do, Severus took a seat at the other side of the bed, quietly waiting for a reason for him to be useful. 

That moment came when the nurses tried to usher the three of them out, and Severus channeled the anger he’d come very accustomed to using like a spell at this point to inform them that unless they arrested him, he would not be leaving Millie’s side, as he didn’t trust the establishment to not do something to her or her child. His loud derision of how the Ministry handled him and his wife was widely known at this point. The healers looked at him gritting his teeth in anger, just waiting to be unleashed, and then the towering form of Greg, who’d stood to his full height, and decided that as long as the mother wanted them there, they were fine to remain.

Millie had told the healer in charge that if she didn’t want them there, she would have kicked them out on her own as she grimaced her way through a contraction. 

As Millie’s labor progressed, he found himself more in awe of both her and Hermione. Hermione held her hand, talking her through the pain that was becoming so great that Millie could no longer conceal it, comforting her until it passed. After a few hours, just as the sun was starting to come up, Millie’s labor ended as she delivered a baby girl. Everyone, including himself, was a little misty-eyed as she held her child to her chest, with Greg openly weeping at her side as he told her how wonderful she’d done. 

That was, until the door was thrown open and Ron Weasley barged his way into the room. 

Severus was on his feet, wand drawn before anyone reacted. “One more step, Weasley, and you’ll lose your other head too.”

“I am here to see my kid,” Weasley declared with his hands up.

“Like hell you are.” Greg left Millie’s side, pushing Weasley back toward the door with one hand. “You will wait out there; her family is here with her.”

“Who the hell are you to keep me away?” Ron bellowed, glaring up at the giant of a man.

“You want to take this outside, Weasley, and I’ll show you,” Greg growled threateningly, shoving him out of the threshold. “Because I’m not about to have you hurt another baby, I’ll kill you first.”

“I —” Ron froze, and Severus watched as his eyes darted to Hermione and then him. A concoction of terror and rage flitted across his expression as he centered his focus on the woman in bed who had her child cradled in her arms protectively. “I will see you in court, Millie. I will take my kid away from you.”

Severus moved to block Weasley’s view of them, glaring at him with all the desire he had to reduce the man to ashes. “I will do everything in my power to make sure you never see this child, unless she wants you to.”

“Leave,” Greg demanded with another shove.

“You’ll regret this.” Ron shook his arm free from Greg with a glare and then stomped down the hallway. 

She was beautiful. 

Hermione looked at the tiny little human cradled against her friend's chest, marveling at her before smiling at Millie. “She’s perfect.”

“Thank Merlin she’s not a ginger,” Millie chuckled, pressing her lips to her newborn's head. “Never thought I’d be relieved she looked like me.”

“For the record, I think you look beautiful,” Greg interjected from where he was standing by the door on guard.

Millie rolled her eyes, scoffing at him as she adjusted in the hospital bed. Hermione adjusted the pillow behind her as she moved, ready to try to support Millie if she lost her balance.

The other woman glanced at her, her dark eyes almost unreadable as she seemed to be deep in thought. “Hermione?” Millie poised her name like a question.

"Yeah?" she replied with an eagerness to fulfill whatever task Millie needed for her comfort postpartum.

“Her name is Heulwen,” Millie told her, glancing back down at the baby cradled in her arms. “And I want you and Severus to be her godparents.”

Surprise rocketed through her, and Hermione took in a deep breath, her eyes meeting her husband's across the bed. Severus looked just as surprised as she did, his eyebrows raised as he gazed down at the small infant. When he glanced back up to her, she got the feeling that he was leaving it up to her to agree to this or not.

She’d not felt like this was something she’d earned; she and Millie had only grown close over the last five months; they weren’t lifelong friends. That Millie would trust her with her child after such a short time seemed unfathomable to Hermione. “Are you sure you don’t want someone else?”

Millie glared at her, but it didn’t have the heat of anger; instead, it had a shade of disbelief. “I am sure, or I wouldn’t have said it,” Millie stressed as if Hermione had insulted her by thinking otherwise. “There is no one else who I would trust to care enough about her other than you and Severus.”

“Hey?” Greg interjected, a hurt look on his face as his frown made his beard shift.

Turning her attention to him, she scoffed at him. “Greg, you wanna be her stepdaddy or her godfather; you pick?”

“Oh excuse me, I don’t belong in this conversation,” Greg said suddenly with a wide smile breaking across his face. “I’m going to stand right here and keep my trap shut before you change your mind.”

“I thought so,” Millie laughed before turning her attention to Severus. “Would you be her godfather? Would you take care of her if something happened to me?”

“If you are certain,” Severus asked with soft hesitance, as he met Hermione’s gaze. Hermione rounded the bed, coming to stand at Severus’ side. She nodded at him, hoping he understood that if he was in, then she was in. 

“I am,” Millie affirmed, wordlessly offering for him to hold her. 

Severus stepped closer to the bed, leaning forward as he let Millie tuck the infant into his arms. He leaned back and Hermione looked at little Heulwen, placing her finger on her small fist.

“I do dangerous work, and if something happens, I want Heulwen to have a chance,” Millie explained, “and she will get that with you before she ever does with the Weasleys.”

Hermione looked up at Severus and noticed the softness in his black eyes as he stared down at the child in his arms. She knew in that moment that Severus had already agreed; she knew that look so well because it was with the same depth of emotion that he often looked at her. “We would be honored to be her godparents.”

Birth Annoucements

Mister and Missus Ronald Weasley welcomed a baby girl, Heulwen Dawn Weasley, this morning. Missus Weasley has declared Mister and Missus Severus Granger as the child's godparents and also expressed to the Ministry her intent to fight her husband for sole custody of her child since she can legally end their marriage now that they have produced one living child. The Prophet will be keeping the public informed on this case.

Ronald Weasley arrested in second kidnapping attempt!

Mister Ronald Weasley attempted to kidnap his own child last night from her mother’s arms while she is in recovery from giving birth. Officials from St. Mungo's called Aurors at four am after the attempt was halted by Millicent Weasley’s longtime coworker and friend Gregory Goyle. Mister Goyle subdued Weasley after he tried to throw a hex at the new mother of his child. He is currently being held by the Ministry for Magic. It does make those of us at the Prophet wonder if such a man, who has already caused the death of one child, is fit to be responsible for another. What will the Ministry do to safeguard the small humans it is forcing to be brought into the world by potentially unstable people like Mister Weasley? The Prophet will keep the public informed as more comes out about this incident. 

Ronald Weasley’s Ex-wife reclaims her last name! Millicent Bulstrode launches a custody battle against former spouse after divorce finalized.

Hermione Granger defends Millicent Bulstrode’s right to custody of her child as a Key Witness!

Narcissa Malfoy questions the Ministry’s right to determine bloodlines with the Wizarding Marriage Act, and Purebloods echo her concerns as Molly Weasley accuses Bulstrode of being a dark witch intent on turning her grandchild into a Neo-Death Eater. It has been considered that the Ministry may be trying to eradicate what they considered ‘bad bloodlines’ through the matches. More on the Evening News at 7 here on the Wizarding Wireless News.

Duel on Ministry Steps!

Ronald Weasley attempts to duel Severus Granger before the final day of proceedings in his custody battle.

Misses court appearance due to admittance to St Mungos.

Millicent Bulstrode Wins Sole Custody of her Daughter. Changes her surname to Bulstrode immediately. 

Bulstrode and Goyle fend off a street attack!

According to the two Hitwizards, a man they have never met before and have no association with at all accosted them. The wizard, identified as Thomas Walker, was admitted to St. Mungo's with extensive injuries. Bulstrode informed our interviewer that the man would not stop coming after her, almost practically throwing himself into her fists; it was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Goyle, for his part in the incident, protected Bulstrode’s 4-month-old daughter from the assault and confirmed Bulstrode’s statement. “I would grab his collar to stop him, and he would just fly toward her again, as if he were flung right out of my hand; it was some kind of dark magic at play. We have submitted our report to our superiors to keep an eye out for more of this anomaly.”

Ministry courts are overwhelmed with custodial disputes in the wake of the Wizarding Marriage Act and the outcome of Bulstrode vs. Weasley. Did the Ministry think through the effects of this law on our legal system?

A collective of concerned citizens issues a letter to the Minister of Magic to abolish the Wizarding Marriage Act and restore the sanctity of marriage.  

Pressure mounts as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stages a walkout in order to protest the Wizarding Marriage Act, led by none other than Head Auror Harry Potter and Hitwizard Gregory Goyle. Sparks protest in the Ministry atrium with no Aurors to disperse it. The Wizarding Wireless News is on location as events unfold, giving you up-to-date information on current events. 

Granger’s graduation speech calls for action and declares that the fight against the Ministry is far from over

Hermione Granger graduated with the highest honors from Ravensdorn University. She received a standing ovation after her riveting valedictorian speech. 

Missus Granger received her double mastery and spoke about how trust, choice, and consent are the foundation of not just any relationship but society itself. Her speech directly criticized the Minister of Magic, who was present, and the Wizengamot for breaking the trust of the people and ripping away their right to choice and stripping away consent. 

She thanked her husband, Severus Granger, who was sitting in the front row, for making this nightmare of a law bearable by protecting her choice and consent at every available turn. She also remarked that he should not have to put so much effort into protecting her from her government when the government should be putting its citizens first and protecting her.

She declared the Wizarding Marriage Act a direct violation of what the Ministry was meant to stand for. Granger stated that she would be putting her whole focus on unseating the Minister and abolishing the law now that she no longer had her studies to focus on. She specifically stated that she was not going to let the Ministry strip away the consent of her goddaughter, six-month-old Heulwen Bulstrode, who was also present with her mother, Millicent Bulstrode, sitting next to Severus Granger.

Her closing statement was especially emotional, as she promised that she wasn’t done fighting this law.

“I am going to fight to fix the world for her as much as for myself, so if you aren’t with me, consider yourself against me.”

Abolish and Retire or Face Total Shutdown

The Minister of Magic receives an ultimatum from Heads of Departments as walkouts bring the government to a standstill. 

Gringotts Defies Minister!

Gringotts goblins refuse to honor the Minister's decree to keep the bank open as goblins join the protests and demand the release of Luna Lovegood in the wake of the Quibbler's release of Ministry plans to enforce the Marriage Law on magical beings. Goblin bankers lock all vaults of Wizengamot members and the Minister himself. More on this development at 7 here on the Wizarding Wireless News.

Wizengamot and the Minister for Magic called a special hearing in response to mounting pressures to assess the merit of the Wizarding Marriage Act of 2002. We are here with the Wizarding Wireless News awaiting the results of the hearing, and we will update you as soon as they emerge.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

It had been a restless night, the two of them curled up on the sofa together with the radio on. Severus didn’t care for the music they played, but that wasn’t why it was on. Hourly, the news would update that the Wizengamot was still in deliberation, wavering like an executioner over the chopping block of the Wizarding Marriage Act. 

He lay on his back on the sofa, one arm wrapped over Hermione’s back as she lightly slept on his chest, her arms crossed under her head. Her curls cascaded down over her elbow, covering most of his chest and shoulder. Severus watched her sleep, a melting pot of emotions and thoughts colliding in his mind. This is what they had been fighting for, what he’d been fighting for from the beginning; they were on the eve of a world a little less mad, but it was this madness that brought her into his life and changed everything. It was bittersweet, this impending victory. 

The song on the radio cut off abruptly.

JUST IN FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC! THE MINISTER OF MAGIC HAS EMERGED FROM THE WIZENGAMOT CHAMBERS!

Severus nudged her, and Hermione jostled awake, half sitting up on him, her eyes on the radio.

Severus held his breath amid the static pause of the wireless.

HE IS MAKING AN ANNOUNCEMENT!

Their eyes met.

THE WIZARDING MARRIAGE ACT HAS BEEN ABOLISHED! HE IS STEPPING DOWN! 

He watched the tension and the stress melt away from her features, a softness and relief replacing them as she grinned at him. Hermione cupped his face in her hands, and they kissed as if they had just won the greatest achievement possible. His hands cradled the side of her head and rested at the small of her back. 

“We did it,” she gasped triumphantly against his lips. “We did it, Severus.”

Pushing her hair away from her face, he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “We did.”

She shifted off of him, straightening the dress she’d been in all night and flicking her wand to remove the wrinkles. Severus followed suit, getting up from the sofa and walking to the closet to get his coat. It was the same coat he’d married her in, and it felt fitting to end this chapter of their life in the same attire that he’d started it. 

“Are you ready to go get divorced?” Hermione asked from the fireplace, pulling her hair atop her head in a messy bun.

Severus crossed the room to her, stopping next to her in front of the fireplace. He was ready to shove off the shackles they’d been saddled with for nearly a year and half. The control placed on their lives would be gone after today. “I am, are you?”

“Yes,” she breathed out with a wide smile.

A different feeling pervaded him now, in knowing that they’d been successful. An itch of concern started in the back of his throat, his eyes shifting to her as he continued to methodically button his coat. 

Would she stay?

Hermione had been very clear with him that she wanted to continue this relationship even if they were divorced, but even with that declaration, there was a chance that once she had the freedom to choose, she would not choose him. 

It was a possibility he prepared for, tucked away in the back of his mind until this moment. Severus would never do anything to make her stay, but that didn’t mean he wished she wouldn’t stay. His life had become fuller because of her, in a way he knew he could never replicate on his own.  And he didn’t want to. 

Her fingers pushed his hands away from the buttons at the bottom of his coat as she took up the task herself. With a soft smile, she slipped the last few into their eyelets and then ran her hands down the front of his coat as she stared up at him. “You know I’m still coming home?”

Those words cut to the quick of his anxious thoughts, and he took one of her hands in his, bringing it to his lips. “I hope that is the case, but you will be free to make that choice in a few minutes.”

A tug at the front of his coat had him leaning forward as Hermione pressed up on her toes, kissing him softly. For a moment, Severus let everything fall to the side as he pulled her into his embrace, kissing her back with all the hope she’d planted in his chest during this marriage. If this is where it ended, he wanted it to end like this.

Severus wanted to arrive at his divorce late and love drunk from her kiss.

The Ministry of Magic was a madhouse. The news was there, the Wizarding Wireless, and celebrants of the fall of the law. In addition to that, there was a large group of people ready to get their marriages ended. Severus and Hermione were granted first in line, as many lauded them as the reason they would be free of these mandated matches.

Hermione was a maelstrom of emotions. There were moments, standing there waiting for the courtroom doors to open, that she cried against Severus’ arm, the elation and relief too great for her to hold in. Other times, she looked up at Severus with a sink of sorrow in her chest. As much as she hated everything this law stood for, it had brought him into her life. He would be free to choose to go back to his established life and bachelorhood, and she would have to go out in the world and try to build one for herself, even if she’d become rather comfortable as a part of his. Hermione would never take that choice away from him, but there was a part of her that desperately wanted him to choose her. 

Even though he’d said their relationship did not hang on the balance of their marriage, a small voice told her that it might. 

The doors opened, and Hermione glanced up at him. His black eyes softened when they met hers, and she saw the quirk of a smile at the corner of his lips. Long fingers curled around hers, squeezing her hand in comfort as he took the leading step forward. It reminded her of how they started this, hand in hand, bracing for what came. Drawing on his strength and the comfort she found in his presence now, she followed him into the courtroom.

Their paperwork had been submitted for weeks, just waiting for the moment that the law was sundered. They’d carefully written out the division of assets and ensured there was nothing the court could use to hold them back. 

The judge looked over the documents as they stood before him, still hand in hand. She heard the flash of a camera, which made everything feel so cyclical, but instead of anger and fear and resentment, Hermione was filled with joy and relief and satisfaction.

Glancing down from the bench, the judge addressed them. His voice echoed through the courtroom, effectively silencing the room. 

“Do you, Severus Tobias Granger, agree to the dissolution of your marriage to Hermione Jean Granger?” he asked.

Severus looked down at her, warmth filling his eyes as he smiled at her. He turned his body toward hers, taking her other hand in his own. “I do,” he confirmed, giving her hands another gentle squeeze.

Her eyes remained focused on Severus’, turning her body toward him in a mirrored reflex as the judge addressed her. “Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, agree to the dissolution of your marriage to Severus Tobias Granger?"

Her chest felt heavy, so full of love and adoration and gratitude toward Severus. She could not have done this without him, not have gotten here if it had not been him she was matched to. Breathlessly, she answered the judge's question, “I do.”

The man at the bench cleared his throat nervously, but Hermione didn’t let that draw her attention away.

“Severus Granger’s maiden name is legally returned to him, and he will be henceforth legally Severus Snape again,” the judge explained.

“Actually,” Severus jerked his head toward the man, interrupting him. “I’d rather keep my married name. I’ve become fond of being a Granger,” Severus glanced at her seeking her permission, “As long as my ex-wife does not mind.”

The anxiety of losing him was crushed under the weight of her emotions and the gravity of his happy gaze. This wasn’t an end, and she knew it just by looking at him. Her shoulders rose in a subtle shrug as a quiet laugh escaped her. “I don’t see why not; please allow my ex-husband to keep my last name,” she told the judge at the bench, the sides of her mouth starting to ache from her smile.

The judge looked clearly uncomfortable, exchanging a look with the Auror positioned at his side. They both shrugged at each other, perplexed before the judge conceded. “Very well. Since there are no minor children involved, and you’ve requested to divide your assets on your own, the Ministry grants the requested divorce in the wake of the abolishment of the Wizarding Marriage Act.”

It felt as if a thousand-pound weight fell off of her shoulders, and if he weren't holding on to her hands, she would float away from the ground. It was done; she was no longer under the decree of the Ministry to be married, or produce a child, or do anything involving her body and her heart that she didn’t want to do. A shaky breath escaped her, coming from so deep in her diaphragm that it left her feeling empty.

Inspired and elated, Hermione pressed up on her toes, kissing Severus firmly. He kissed her back, his hands wrapping around her waist as he held her close. 

It was the confused applause that forced them to break away from each other.

Severus glanced away toward their audience and narrowed his eyes briefly before releasing her and offering her his hand. “Shall we?”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed, taking his hand and knowing that if he’d let her, she’d walk with him everywhere for the rest of their days. 

A rope divided the hallway out of the courtroom; on one side were those seeking to divorce and annul their marriages, and on the other side were just Hermione and Severus, as they were the first to do so. A raucous cheer erupted as they stepped into the narrow room. It was almost a wall of sound from how filled the other side of the rope was. Severus did not stop, continuing his steady walk toward the atrium and to escape the crowds. As they walked down the same hallways they had over eighteen months ago, Hermione saw a door and sensed an opportunity she could not pass up. She made her mind up about something the night before, and she didn’t want to wait until they were home to tell him, especially when there was a more perfect place.

“Wait.” She stopped him with a gentle tug on his arm, shifting their trajectory. “Step in here with me for a moment.”

Severus paused, his eyes darting to the dark wood of the door before his eyes roved over her in curiosity, and because she’d come to know him so well, a spark of concern. “Very well,” he relented, following her into the waiting room.

As the door shut, the sounds from outside faded into a muffled static, the sound dampening activating once the latch was turned.

It looked just as it had when they’d been there last, with the same dated, dreary decor and the rug that had significantly more wear to it. It had been their holding cell while they’d waited to marry, the place where the tentative alliance that led to their current love affair was forged. 

But more importantly, it was the best place to end something.

“Is there a reason you choose this particular room?” he rumbled, his eyes sweeping over it just as hers were.

“Yes, there is,” she responded with a breathlessness that seized her lungs. Everything had come to this moment; it was the pivot point of their lives, and the weight of that was more than that of the divorce they’d just left behind. Hermione knew at an emotional level that this wasn’t the end, but their relationship was not built on inference and proverbial mind reading. Communication had been their bedrock, upon which they had built a shaky house of respect that became a sturdy home of trust and love. She wanted to decorate it with something else now, something they didn’t have before.

Hermione stood in front of him, taking in the sight of him. The happiness on his face had only slightly waned, like the moon just after full, still as bright but cautious of the coming darkness. Taking one of his hands in hers, she rubbed her fingers over the indent of his ring finger, where for the first time in 18 months, there was not a heavy golden band. “I chose this room because this is where you said something to me that has stuck with me for the last year and half.”

“What was that?” he asked, his eyes drifting up as if he were trying to recall the whole conversation from the last time they were in this room.

She was certain, based on how she’d come to understand that his mind worked, that he was trying to find the insult or the hurt that he would have to apologize for.  Hermione cupped her hand under his left hand, cradling it as she continued to smooth her thumb over the new void on his hand. “I have a question for you before I answer yours.”

“Ask me anything,” Severus uttered deeply and emphatically, as if his wish was her command, as his eyes drifted down to where she massaged his finger.

Her shoulders tightened as she drew in a deep breath, bracing for the worst but praying to whatever powers were listening for the best. “Severus Granger, will you marry me?”

Severus jerked his head up, his eyes wide, forehead furrowed as a confused smile painted its way over his thin lips.  “We just got divorced?” he replied, a current of amusement in those deep syllables.

“I know.” A burst of soft laughter escaped her, and she nodded knowingly. It was not lost on her that the ink had not even dried on the divorce decree and she was asking for his hand. But she didn’t feel like there needed to be some prescribed waiting period where they could both think the other may not actually want to be there. Her eyes fell to their hands, where she had a shared indent on her ring finger. There was something wrong about seeing their naked hands, about there not being a visible tangible memento of what they were to each other. 

It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t desperation. She’d asked herself those questions last night when she’d decided that she was going to instigate this engagement. It was because of all the people she’d loved in her life; no one ever felt this right. No life she could create for herself would feel as perfectly made for her as the life she’d built with him.

And she worried that Severus would take a delay and turn on himself. It was his words that echoed in her mind and reminded her of what he truly thought of himself. He’d been open and vulnerable from the start and she wanted to protect that part of him, to keep his tender insecurities safe and remind him that the man he saw himself as was not the man that she’d fallen in love with. 

“You told me, right here in this room, that you were no one’s first choice or even anyone's choice at all in a husband,” she echoed his own words back at him, gazing up into his widening eyes. “I am telling you right now, you are my ONLY choice for a husband.”

His mouth opened as if he were going to speak, and then it closed as if he were interrupting his thoughts from leaving his lips. His hand squeezed hers, his own thumb pressing against the soft space where her wedding ring had been. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as that breath left him in a rush. His shoulders relaxed, his jaw softened, and he opened his eyes, gazing down at her with an open display of his feelings for her. “I cannot think of a more perfect woman to have as my wife.”

Before she could react, he drew his hands from hers and wrapped his arms around her, pulling him to his chest. She acted on reaction, her arms encircling his waist as she tucked herself against his shoulder. His embrace was tight but not crushing, and she sank into the security and comfort that was him.

“I want an engagement party, a bridal party, a bachelorette, the whole huge wedding,” she confessed against his shoulder. “I want to show the world that I have chosen you. I want there to be no doubts in anyone’s mind, especially yours.”

“I will give you every party you want under the sun.” His voice was rough as he nodded, pressing kisses to the top of her head. 

“And a real honeymoon, somewhere away from the wizarding world,” she added, kissing the fabric of his coat as she squeezed his back, pulling him as close to her as possible.

“I have it on very good authority that Bulgaria will have us if we but say the word.” She felt his voice rumble through her face.

Hermione laughed, because Viktor would happily set them up with a little honeymoon spot if he even got the whisper in the wind that they wanted it. It was then that Hermione realized that he’d not said yes, only that he couldn’t think of a more perfect woman. She wanted his consent; she needed to know irrevocably that he was going to marry her. 

“Is this a yes?” Leaning her head back, she looked up at him. “Will you be my fiancé, my husband, and my person for the rest of our lives?”

“Yes.” Severus smiled widely, pressing his lips to her forehead, as he breathed words against her skin with a reverence that made it feel like a prayer, “As long as you will be my fiancée, my wife, my person for the rest of our lives. I am already yours, as long as you want to be mine.”

“I’ve already chosen to be yours,” she hummed happily, grabbing handfuls of his coat to give her leverage as she lifted up on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

His lips yielded to hers as a soft moan escaped him. That baritone note of pure love vibrated through her bones, eliciting a mirrored tone in her chest that echoed his own. 

One hand splayed against her back, Severus held her face as he dipped her backward in a breathtaking crescendo of a kiss. Her mouth opened to his in a gasp, and his tongue slid against hers, staking its claim to her. Hermione grabbed hold of his shoulders, holding herself up as she sucked on his tongue, heat rising in her at their closeness and intensity of their kissing.

After an eternity in his arms, which was likely only a few seconds if she were honest, he straightened them both out, breathing hotly against her cheek. “Would it be too forward for me to ask you to come home with me?”

She laughed against his cheek before shifting so she could look in the eyes. “Do you intend to take me to bed, Mister Granger?”

His pupils were dilated, an amused hum of agreement escaping him. “After I’ve made you breakfast, Miss Granger, if you’ll allow me.”

“I’ll consent to that,” Hermione chuckled, grabbing his lapel and kissing him again.

Severus encircled her shoulders with his arms, supporting her as he pressed his lips firmly against hers, his nose tucking against hers. This kiss did not have the heat of the previous one, even with the lust swirling through her. It was tender and affirming, adding a layer of bliss to her senses as her heart understood and accepted that he’d choose her. 

“I love you, Hermione,” he confessed against her, the words sinking into her skin like an invisible tattoo, permanent and unchanging.

Hermione swallowed a cry that was threatening to escape her, whispering into his lips, “I love you too, Severus.”

He kissed her cheek, her forehead, and under each eye where a few tears escaped her before he kissed the crown of her head again as he embraced her. They swayed softly in place for a moment, and Hermione let that start to heal the wounds this law had inflicted on her, that this room had ripped open. 

Severus stepped back, running his thumbs under her eyes before he glanced at the door. “Are you afraid to go out there this time as my fiancée?”

“No,” she cackled, shaking her head. She grabbed his hand in hers, pressing a kiss where a new engagement ring would go once they’d gone together and picked them out. “I want them to be full of envy over what we have now, that I have you.”

His hand caught her chin with two fingers, lifting her gaze. Severus smirked, as if she’d said the most deviously wonderful thing he’d ever heard. “Let them envy us, then.”